


The Stars Over Tevinter

by The_Real_Fenris



Series: Magister Rising [1]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bromance, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragon Age II Spoilers, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Innuendo, M/M, Mild Language, Original Character(s), Sexual Tension, Slavery, Tevinter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 06:16:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4009006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Real_Fenris/pseuds/The_Real_Fenris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kicked out of the Inquisition, Dorian Pavus returns to Tevinter with his new bodyguard in hopes of changing things for the better. But things become complicated when he acquires a slave named Fenris.</p><p>Or: Dorian/Krem epic bromance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Minrathous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite the premise (Fenris, who was sold back to Danarius by Hawke in DA2, ends up being owned by Dorian) this story will be relatively smut-free. Probably a waste of an opportunity, but I hope you do enjoy the total Krem/Dorian bromance going on. 
> 
> Rated mature for some language, some battle violence, sexual innuendo, and hints of abuse in Fenris' past.
> 
> Artwork by the wonderful [hirrient](http://hirrient.tumblr.com/).

\---

When Dorian Pavus returned to his homeland, he quickly discovered that he’d gained a certain amount of notoriety for his role in defeating the Venatori with the Inquisition. Everyone he met asked the same question: _What was the Inquisition like?_

Dorian sang the Inquisition’s praises. He usually tossed in a few amusing anecdotes about crushing darkspawn or slaying dragons. And he painted Inquisitor Lavellan in the most flattering light, as if the man were a god incarnate, capable of shooting roses and rainbows out of his ass. This, despite the fact that Lavellan _had_ broken his heart.

Dorian had fallen in love with the Inquisitor. The Inquisitor, however, was in love with Sera. Sera, in turn, burned a torch for Cassandra. And Cassandra had developed a crush on Dorian.

So the answer Dorian wanted to give about what the Inquisition was like? It was like one giant circle jerk of unrequited love.

The only ones in the inner circle unaffected by the love bug had been Varric – who was smart enough to stay out of it – and the Iron Bull – who’d been too busy trying to have sex with everyone to fall prey to any of those pesky things known as feelings.

In hindsight, either course of action – emotional abstinence or sexual promiscuity – would have been preferable to _that_ moment, the day after the victory party where he’d drunkenly confessed his love and tried to kiss the Inquisitor in front of everyone. That moment when Lavellan awkwardly confronted Dorian in the library, nervously brushing his beautiful white hair out of his luscious green eyes. He’d prepared a lovely speech for Dorian, which ended with: _Perhaps it would just be better if you returned to Tevinter now, instead of later. Now that Corypheus is dead, the Inquisition has no need of so many mages._

Tail between his legs, Dorian slunk out. He lingered in Skyhold only long enough to write and post some letters, pack his bag, hire a bodyguard, and say his farewells.

Three weeks later, he was in Minrathous.

***

They had left the horses at the stables of his dowager aunt, thus they now made their way on foot, packs slung over their shoulders, out of the better part of the city, skirted the elf slums, passed through Vivazzi Plaza, and headed towards the Circle of Magi.

Aunt Cassia had offered Dorian use of one of her carriages, but Dorian had turned the offer down. Not that he preferred walking – the excuse he’d given – but because he rather disliked his family knowing his precise whereabouts. He’d been staying with his aunt for less than a month, and he’d already received two letters from his father, requesting that he return home.

Still, walking through his old quarter, he was reminded of happier times – those years after he’d become a fully ranked enchanter, when he was on his own, away from the ancestral home, and free to fill his time however he pleased. He’d continued to help Magister Alexius with his research, and devoted himself to further study of magic. Because of his participation in the Lower Floor debates of the Circle, he was well-respected and admired by his peers, and had spent many delightful evenings at parties, cafes, or drinking houses engaged in philosophical debate with a small group of enchanters of a similar background and age. One of them being Varian of House Prasinus.

A turn down Vicus Archon brought them away from the Circle, and then they were mere blocks away from their destination. Soon Dorian stopped in front of an odd, yet familiar building. Of black stone, flanked by stone gryphons, it rose high behind black rose-trellised gates. Dorian had never been inside, but knew that it mostly housed young magi who couldn’t afford to live anywhere better.

Behind him, a familiar voice in Tevene. “What sort of man did you say this Varian was?”

Dorian glanced at his bodyguard. Close-cropped red hair, shrewd eyes, jagged nose, ruggedly handsome – if Dorian squinted – and drawing stares for his Southern-style plate mail armor. How he could stand to wear it in the Tevinter heat, Dorian had no idea.

“Eccentric,” Dorian replied. “We’re talking about a man from one of the wealthiest families in Minrathous, who became a senior enchanter at the tender age of twenty-eight, and who is a well-respected teacher in the Circle, yet who lives in a room that is smaller than Aunt Cassia’s closet, and, furthermore, owns no slaves.”

“First of all, I haven’t seen your aunt’s closet, Chief. And, second, you don’t own any slaves either.”

Dorian smiled. “I have you, Cremisius. Almost as good. Although we’ll need to work on your grape-peeling skills.”

Krem’s eyes laughed at him. “Sure thing, Chief.”

Once past the imposing gates and through the front door, they stepped into a large iron cage near the back of the foyer. Curious, Krem watched as Dorian placed a hand on a panel in the cage. Magical energy passed from Dorian’s hand into the glass then, suddenly, the cage rose into the air.

Krem grabbed onto the bars as the cage lurched, and tried not to look down as they continued to ascend.

Eventually the lift ground to a halt. Krem vaguely hoped that there were stairs somewhere in the building as they stepped out, and then Dorian led him to a door at the end of the corridor.

The man who answered Dorian’s knock was tall, thin to the point of being gaunt, with unruly raven-black hair and the largest bluest eyes Krem had ever seen on someone who wasn’t an elf. Clean was the adjective to describe him: clean nails, clean-shaven, and his elaborate robes were neatly pressed and spotless. Upon seeing the other enchanter, full lips broke out into a genuine smile. “Dorian! I was half-convinced you weren’t going to come.”

The men embraced briefly. Pulling back, Dorian returned the smile. “And why wouldn’t I?”

Varian’s smile became wry. “Because of your love of luxury.”

“Fair.”

“You’ll find no luxury here. But you are welcome to stay as long as you like. You and...”

“This is Cremisius Aclassi. Ex-Inquisition. My bodyguard.”

Varian’s gaze lingered curiously on the soldier for a moment. “Yes, of course. I’ve seen you lurking behind Dorian at the meetings. Though it’s delightful to actually meet you.”

Krem sketched a bow.

Varian’s eyes slid over to Dorian. “I did tell you that I have only the one spare room...?”

Dorian noted the unspoken question in his friend’s eyes. A question that Dorian could answer later. Now he just smiled. “We’ll manage.”

“Excellent. Well, don’t just stand there! Do come in. I’ll show you to your room so you can settle in, then I’ll bring you some tea. One of my students recently gifted me with a tin of something called Passionflower Winter from Rivain.”

“One of your students?” Dorian said as they followed Varian through the main room. “Are you sure it’s not poisoned?”

“Well, I gave him good marks on his last exam, so... it’s probably safe.” At the end of the room, there were two doors. “The bathroom’s here,” he said, opening the door to the right. Dorian was relieved to see that the bathroom, at least, met all his needs of necessity as well as luxury. That large marble tub _was_ to die for. Then Varian opened the door on the left. “Your room.”

Dorian and Krem shuffled in, dropping packs. It was small, but neat, possessing no more than a wardrobe, a bed, and a rather threadbare rug set before an unlit fireplace.

Varian excused himself with the promise of tea.

Krem and Dorian looked at the bed, then at each other.

“Well!” Dorian said, already regretting his decision to leave his aunt’s mansion. “This is cozy.”

***

Cremisius Aclassi leaned back against the wall of the Wyvern’s Blood Cafe, keeping watch over Dorian Pavus.

When Bull had told him of Dorian’s offer two months ago, Krem had initially declined to leave the Chargers. There was a reason he’d left Tevinter, and he had no burning desire to go back. Maker help him if anyone from his old regiment should recognize him and decide to report him. More trouble than it was worth, no matter how much the mage was paying.

Also, despite the fact that he and Dorian were the only two “Vints” at Skyhold, they were hardly friends. No doubt due to Krem’s social class being decidedly lower than Dorian’s. Dorian was a powerful _altus_ from a wealthy family. Krem was a sword-for-hire without a drop of magical skill. So it wasn’t like they had anything in common beyond a native language.

Not to mention that Dorian was an arrogant, narcissistic, spoiled peacock of a man, who was – as Dorian himself had put it – all flash, no heat. So the idea of leaving Bull to serve someone like that just didn’t appeal to Krem.

However, when Bull told him the following, Krem changed his mind.

_Look, Krem de la Krem. Dorian’s not that bad of a guy. Yeah, he’s a little flashy and full of himself, but he’s saved all our asses on the battlefield more than once. We owe the guy. Also, I feel bad for him. This ain’t common knowledge, but because of that scene he caused last night, the Inquisitor just gave him the boot. Kind of unfair if you think about how much Dorian’s done for the Inquisition. Now he pretty much has to go back to Tevinter and doesn’t want to go alone. And it would be safer if the man guarding his back spoke Tevene._

So here he was. During their three weeks on the road, he and Dorian had gotten to know each other much better and had become closer. Krem found that Bull’s assessment of Dorian was pretty spot on – a little flashy and full of himself, but not that bad of a guy. And when he talked about the changes he wanted to make back in Tevinter, Krem actually believed in him, and admired his conviction.

In public, Dorian treated him like a servant – a silent sword. In private, Dorian treated him like a friend. As far as the Charger could tell, the latter was just as surprising to Dorian as it was to him.

Now, in the Wyvern’s Blood, as the mages conducted their meeting, Krem was Dorian’s silent sword. Silent, he could listen.

Including Dorian, there were six of them. Each one was an _altus,_ meaning they were of the ruling class, which, of course, also meant that each one was an enchanter. And each one, like Dorian, aspired to make changes in the Imperium.

Listening to their talk, much of it was familiar. He and Dorian had been staying with Varian for a week now, and most of their conversations revolved around the topic of restoring the Imperium to its former glory. First and foremost, they agreed that blood magic needed to be abolished. They spoke often of politics in the Magisterium – much of which Krem found difficult to follow – but generally agreed that most of the problems in the government were caused by too much infighting and rivalries among the Houses. Where their opinions diverged was on the subjects of slavery and the war with the Qunari.

In Dorian’s opinion, Tevinter’s resources were being wasted in the never-ending fight against the Qunari. Tevinter had made a mistake in refusing to sign the peace treaty along with the rest of Thedas. Even if it meant giving up Seheron. As far as Dorian was concerned, Seheron was a lost cause, anyway, given how many of its inhabitants had already turned to the Qun. Instead, given the recent trouble brewing between Tevinter and Nevarra, they should focus their military might on the south.

Varian, on the other hand, disagreed that the war with the Qunari was the most pressing concern, and didn’t feel like Nevarra was even a threat. Rather, he believed that they needed to reform slavery. First, by making it illegal to kill slaves, which would serve to keep maleficarum from using slaves as fodder for their blood magic. And, second, to abolish the black market. Non-contract slaves were untraceable, and thus most often abused or killed, and it was just nasty business all around. Which did nothing for Tevinter’s reputation in the eyes of the rest of the world.

To that, Dorian had just smirked and said, _Varian, they vilify us for being_ mages. _Slavery is just the icing on the whole ‘Tevinter is evil’ cupcake._

As the other four enchanters each espoused their own opinions, it occurred to Krem that what they needed was more action, and less talking. Even when he followed Dorian about at parties, Dorian was always trying to bend the ear of the most influential magister in the room.

Apparently Krem was not the only person of the opinion that they needed more action. As they were walking back to Varian’s house, the senior enchanter remarked, “You know, Dorian... you’d have better resources if you went back to Qarinus.”

Dorian’s gaze slid over to his friend. “An interesting point,” was all he said. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

Later, as Krem was unstrapping his armor in their room, he glanced over at Dorian, who’d already tossed off his mage robes and now sat in the bed, one hand pressed against his lips, his eyes distant. “You’re thinking, Chief.”

Dorian lowered his hand, turning to Krem. “Varian’s right – I would have more resources if I went home. But...”

Krem dropped his chest plate in the growing pile of metal in the corner of the room and began unbuckling his vambraces. “But?”

“But it would give my father too much pleasure if I conceded to his wishes.”

“You don’t get along with your old man, I take it.”

The distant look flashed briefly in Dorian’s eyes again. “He did something... unforgivable.”

Something in his tone told Krem that prying would not be a good idea. Dropping one vambrace, he unbuckled the other before unlacing his pants. “Seems to me, Chief, that you don’t have to forgive him in order to accept his help.”

“True,” Dorian said, watching as Krem, now wearing just a long tunic that barely covered his small clothes, sat down on the rug. Dorian first tossed a pillow at him, then one of the blankets. As Krem settled down on the floor, Dorian added, “Of course, if we did go to Qarinus, I’m sure we could find you a bed to sleep in. Though it would probably be with my father’s men.”

“I was in the Army, Chief. I’m used to sleeping with a bunch of soldiers.”

“‘Sleeping with a bunch of soldiers,’ he says.” Dorian murmured, then grinned salaciously. “Oh, the picture you just painted in my mind, Cremisius.”

“Enjoy that fantasy,” Krem said, punching the pillow into shape. “Just do me a favor and wait until I’m asleep, though.”

Dorian snorted a laugh. “Don’t worry – I’ll save that one for the next time I’m alone.”

 


	2. Qarinus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian returns to his family's home in Qarinus, where he meets the new slave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, Krem and Dorian converse about why they left Tevinter. Pretty much all in canon, though I figured it was possible that Krem might have seen some action fighting in Seheron, so I've tossed that in.

It was late afternoon by the time they’d left the docks and Dorian nudged his horse up alongside of Krem’s, indicating a mansion in the distance. “Our destination, Cremisius. House Pavus.”

Calling it a house was like Varric calling the Iron Bull _Tiny._ It was palatial. All gray stone sprawling, covered in spires, surrounded by orchards and gardens and fountains. “It’s big.”

Dorian grinned slyly. “Yes, most things ‘Pavus’ do tend to be.”

Krem’s eyes were laughing at him again. “Hate to break it to you, Chief, but I’ve seen you bare-ass naked and you’re no Qunari.”

Dorian choked back a little laugh. “Rather unfair,” was all he said.

As they rode on, Dorian found that he couldn’t stop wondering about what Bull looked like naked. And if perhaps he should have accepted the Qunari’s offer of sex back at Skyhold. Maker, how long _had_ it been since he’d even been kissed?

They soon reached the front gates. Once the guardsmen had let them pass, Dorian led them to the front door, where one of the elven slaves was already waiting to take their horses to the stables. Another slave greeted them in the foyer.

He was a middle-aged elf, silver hair pulled back in a neat tail at the back of his head. “Welcome home, Young Master,” he said with a smile. “Please wait here while I fetch the Master and Mistress.”

“Yes, thank you, Dasio,” Dorian said with genuine warmth. As the elf slipped off, Dorian noticed Krem’s curious look. “One of my father’s favored slaves. Practically runs the household. And – why are you looking at me like that? Did you expect that I’d get back to Tevinter and just start whipping slaves all willy-nilly?”

Krem considered that. Maybe...yes? But before he could answer, Dasio had already returned, a young elf girl at his side, walking behind Dorian’s parents.

Dorian’s mother kissed him on the cheek.

“Dorian,” his father said. “I’m glad that you finally decided to come home.”

“Just... for a visit.”

His mother’s eyes swept over Krem. With some curiosity, but also a spark of distaste. “You didn’t tell us that you’d be bringing a young man with you.”

“This is Cremisius Aclassi. My bodyguard. Krem, my mother, the Lady Aquinea, and my father, Magister Halward Pavus.”

Krem sketched an appropriate bow.

Halward regarded his son with disapproval. “Dorian. Did you have to bring your... _friend_ home with you? What will people say?”

Dorian read all of his father’s meaning into the word _friend._ It annoyed him to no end that his father would assume, any time he found Dorian in the company of men, that he was automatically _enjoying_ the company of that man. The last time they’d met, in Redcliff, he’d assumed that Dorian’s relationship with the Inquisitor, who’d come along to be supportive, was carnal. Though, in truth, Dorian wished it had been true.

Too much anger. He tried to bite his tongue, but there was no way he could remain quiet. “First of all,” he snapped. “It is none of your business. And second of all, Krem isn’t even –”

Dorian paused when he caught the flash of alarm on Krem’s face. As Krem looked at him expectantly, he reconsidered what he’d been about to say. There was no way he could spill Krem’s secret now without feeling like a total ass.

“– interested in me,” Dorian finished. “Sadly, I’m not his type.”

Krem, playing along, gave a little apologetic shrug. “Sorry, Chief.”

His parents glanced at each other. His mother, at least, looked relieved. His father was still a bit skeptical. But Halward just gestured the slaves forward. “Dasio, please see to it that arrangements are made for Dorian’s bodyguard in the barracks. Iona, please help Dorian settle in.” He glanced at Dorian. “We kept your room for you, as it was. Rest now, and we’ll speak again at dinner.”

As Krem adjusted his pack and moved to follow the slave, he spoke under his breath, just loud enough for Dorian to hear. “Thanks, Chief.”

***

As Iona unpacked his bag, Dorian wandered around the room he’d grown-up in.

The walls were dark – he changed them long ago, as their somber tone had somehow been fitting to his role as rebellious boy mage. Too dark. He tried to recall the spell he’d used to change them, but it was lost somewhere in his memory banks.

He was delighted when he opened his closet. When he’d run away from home, he’d left behind most of his clothes. And he owned quite a fine collection. As his fingers stroked a sleeve of white silk, Dorian smiled, remembering how Sirio had teasingly flattered him about how good the whiteness of his shirt looked against his bronze skin.

Still, any good memories in this room were crowded out by the most recent memories, all of them bad. How he’d practically been held prisoner here. For a while, his father had even put a magical seal on his door that prevented him from escaping the room.

Turning, he watched the elf finish folding away his things. It certainly hadn’t taken long, given how little he owned. “How’s your father, Iona? He’s still our gardener, yes?”

She was a small thing, so blond. Dorian remembered the day they’d joined the household. He must have been about fourteen at the time, home again after he’d been expelled from one Circle or the other. The Circle of Vyrantium that time, perhaps.

“Yes, Young Master. He is very well. But he complains that the new slave keeps stealing the best apples off the trees.”

Dorian was amused by that. He was also certain that the cantankerous old gardener probably _allowed_ this slave to take the apples, just to give himself something to complain about. Otherwise, he would have reported the offense to the Master.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Young Master?”

It occurred to Dorian that he didn’t particularly want to be alone in this room with his bad memories. “Yes, Iona. Have someone bring my bodyguard to the veranda in twenty minutes. And have the kitchen send out some tea.”

Now, twenty minutes later, he and Krem sat on the veranda drinking cold, black, sweetened Tevinter tea.

Dorian loved the veranda. It sat under a canopy of branches, which offered shade, and was surrounded by flowers. Nearby, there was the calming gurgle of water in a fountain, mixed with the sound of songbirds in the trees. Not that he was a big fan of nature, but it was, in his opinion, the best place in the manor to relax.

Other than his father’s library, of course.

Dorian dismissed the slave who had served them. He noticed Krem’s thoughtful look as the ex-soldier watched the elf walk away.

“Cremisius,” Dorian said. “I know what Varian thinks about slavery, and by now you’ve heard all my thoughts on the matter, but I don’t have a single clue about what _you_ think.”

Krem became contemplative. “I get what you said. If they abolished slavery in Tevinter, society – the economy – everything would grind to a halt. But Varian is right, too – slaves should have some rights. Like the right to not be murdered on a whim.”

Dorian hummed thoughtfully.

Krem’s eyes narrowed. “What I don’t get is how you can spew half the shit you say about slavery after being down south.”

Indignant, Dorian sputtered. “Shit? I do not spew shit!”

“So, then, if some slaver wanted to kidnap Lavellan and sell _him_ into slavery, that would be fine with you because he’s just an elf?”

Dorian simmered in silence for a moment. He thought about his beloved Inquisitor, Sera, who was too much fun, and Solas, with whom he’d spent many late nights discussing magical techniques. Then he sighed. “I... may have changed my previously-held opinion of elves somewhat,” he admitted. “And, yes, Varian is right. The Black Market _is_ a nasty business. I don’t condone kidnapping, Cremisius. Or subjugating an entire people based on their race.”

Krem was quiet, considering that. “Not all slaves are elves.”

“Most of them are, but... yes. And – what does that have to do with anything?”

Krem was quiet again. “My father sold himself into slavery. As a _servus publicus_. To save the family.”

Dorian’s expression instantly changed, now serious. “Is he... still a slave?”

“Probably. Somewhere. If he’s not dead. I heard about what those Venatori were doing to their slaves in the Western Approach. Working them in the mines until they dropped. That could have been his fate.” Krem’s fingers tightened around his glass. “Don’t know, though. My mother blamed me for it, so I haven’t even seen her since I joined the Imperial Army.”

“Your mother blamed you?”

“My parents had arranged a marriage for me. Someone with money. Could have saved the family from ruin. But I refused.”

Dorian’s smiled sadly. “Then we have that in common, I’m afraid.”

“Is that why you left Tevinter?”

“Ah. Well, it was less about the fact that my father wanted me to marry, and more about the... methods he was willing to use to make me change my mind.”

Krem looked at him curiously.

Dorian sighed again. Did he want to talk about this? _Yes. No._ He didn’t know. “The last time I was at this house... well, let me back up a bit. There was this wickedly attractive young man I met in Minrathous. Sirio Abrexis. Let’s just say that Sirio and I were enjoying ourselves immensely at his father’s estate when the thugs my father had hired killed seven of the guards outside the bedroom chamber, burst in, and then kidnapped me. For several months, because of the scandal, my father kept me here as a prisoner. And when I wouldn’t roll over and play pretend – marry the girl, spawn a few brats – he tried to use blood magic on me to change my tastes.”

What Cole had said: _You love him, but you're angry. They mix together, boiling in the belly until it kneads into a knot._

In his belly, that familiar knot.

Krem’s gaze was steady. Then he took a slow sip of tea. “That’s a bitch of a story, Chief.”

Dorian laughed softly.

They drank in silence.

“So!” Dorian said with forced cheerfulness. “What about you, Cremisius? Why did you leave Tevinter? Was the Imperial Army that bad?”

“My secret got out,” Krem revealed. “It didn’t go over too well. So I ran. Eventually a Tevinter tribune and his men caught up with me at the border. I was outnumbered, five to one. They would have killed me, too, if Bull hadn’t stepped in.” A small smile hovered on Krem’s lips. “Dumb bastard. He put himself right between me and the flail that took out his eye. Didn’t even know me. He brought me to a healer, then offered me a job as Lieutenant of the Chargers.”

Dorian looked thoughtful. “Isn’t it a bit dangerous, then, for you to be back in Tevinter? What if they catch you?”

“A heap of shit on my head for being a deserter if they do. Punishment most likely would be execution or slavery. But I was stationed in Trevis at the time, so running into someone I know randomly ain’t too bloody likely. Though I did spend some time in the Eyes of Nocen before that when I wasn’t actually fighting in Seheron.”

The Eyes of Nocen wasn’t very far from here. “Then you’ve been to Qarinus before, I imagine?”

“A few times on leave, years ago. Me and some of the other guys used to frequent a place you probably don’t know – The Flaming Rose.”

Dorian grinned. “Actually, I may have spent some time there, myself.”

Krem raised an eyebrow. “Not too low-class for someone like you?”

Dorian just continued to smile. “Little known secret of Tevinter. Slums do have the best brothels.”

***

Dinner with his parents was as uncomfortable as Dorian had expected it to be.

His father was still upset that his one and only son had run off to join the Inquisition, so the subject of Dorian’s recent exploits was off the table.

Talking about Minrathous was safe enough. The enchanters he’d been meeting all came from good families, so at least he didn’t garner any more disapproval from his father.

Strange how, despite everything, his father’s disapproval could still hurt him.

Again, Cole’s words floated back to him: _You hold him so tightly. You let it keep hurting, because you think hurting is who you are. Why would you do that?_

With nothing else to say, Dorian, feeling defeated, stopped talking.

For a while, his mother filled the silence with gossip about the other magisters and their families. Dorian listened, though – the more he knew about what was happening between the various Houses, the better.

Eventually, there was only the sound of utensils clinking on delicate, finely-patterned plates. And Dorian’s wine glass was empty.

“I don’t suppose, Father,” he said, “that you still have any of that wine – what was it called? Rowan’s Rose, I believe – still left in the cellars?”

Halward told their slave Mira to send someone to check the wine cellars.

Mira slipped out of the dining room.

A few moments later, a different slave appeared, carrying the requested bottle of wine in both hands.

Dorian’s heart jumped up into his throat.

Pointed ears. Lean body. Beautiful white hair. And luscious green eyes.

For a second his eyes had tricked him into thinking it was the Inquisitor.

It took another second for Dorian to compose himself and gesture the elf over. As the elf reached the table, Dorian raised his glass, then watched as the elf opened the bottle and began to pour. “Iona mentioned there was a new slave in the house,” Dorian remarked. “I assume this is him?”

“We bought him about six months ago in Minrathous,” Halward replied. “When his former master died, they liquidated the estate.”

As far back as Dorian could remember, they’d always had a specific number of slaves – just the exact amount they needed to keep the house running smoothly. “Then – did you replace one?”

His father glanced briefly at the slave. “No, but this one was a... special case,” he said. “In truth, we don’t have much use for him.”

Dorian studied the elf more closely. His hands, chin and throat all bore scars. Strange, white scars that formed a design. Like tattoos. “Oh, I see. One of your charity cases, then?”

“Not exactly,” Halward said. “Those aren’t normal scars. They’re actually lyrium-infused ink under his skin. I thought he might be useful in an experiment, but the lyrium didn’t respond the way I’d hoped.”

Dorian felt his stomach sinking. A slave. With lyrium-infused markings branded into his skin. It wasn’t as if there were many of _those_ running around in Tevinter.

Dorian looked up at those green eyes. “So, what is your name?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“My name is Fenris.”

_Of course it is._

“Fenris, please find my bodyguard in the barracks and escort him to the library after dinner.”


	3. Fenris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian has a chat with his father's new slave, and then makes plans.

In the library, by mage light, Dorian sat in one of the large arm chairs, letting his eyes roam over the books on the shelves.

There was some history thrown in, a couple of tomes of theology, but most of his father’s collection housed books on magic. It was quite possibly one of the largest sources of arcane spells in all of Tevinter – outside of the Circle of Minrathous – and there were a fair number of books on both physical and elemental magic, as well as necromancy. He remembered hating being stuck in this room with his tutors, but now he resisted the urge to start pulling books off the shelf to see what forgotten wonders were contained within.

After a short wait, Fenris led Krem into the library. Krem’s eyes darted around the room before he eased himself down in one of the empty chairs. Dorian scarcely paid him any attention, instead studying the elf again. When he’d come into the room, Dorian’s heart had done that strange little jump again.

 _Not... Lavellan,_ he reminded himself. “Fenris, come here.”

Fenris approached. Docile, dutiful, like he’d been a slave all his life.

“Fenris, I’m a friend of Varric Tethras,” Dorian said. When Fenris regarded him blankly, Dorian added, “Don’t you remember him? Dwarf, no beard? Writes very bad romances? Lived in Kirkwall and fought beside the Champion? Is a little slippery with that thing called the truth? Likes to drink swill and gamble, and will threaten to reveal all your secrets if you don’t pay your debts?”

Fenris thought for a moment. Then he shook his head. “No, I don’t remember anyone like that. Or with that name.”

He had a surprisingly deep voice for an elf. A bedroom voice – all luscious, seductive rumble. The kind of voice, if murmured into your ear, would make you drop your pants faster than you could say _Andraste’s flaming knickers._

“That’s all right,” Dorian said soothingly. “Now, go see if you can find that bottle of Rowan’s Rose I left in the dining room. Or bring a fresh one from the cellars. And two glasses.”

Fenris dipped his head briefly before leaving the library.

“That elf...” Dorian muttered.

Krem had also followed Fenris out with his eyes. “He does look a lot like someone we know.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. Though, yes, he does. I think my heart stopped for a second when I saw him. But...” Dorian trailed off, looking curiously at Krem. “How well did you know Varric?”

Krem shrugged. “I saw him around the tavern at Skyhold a lot, but... he only drank with the Chargers a couple of times.”

“Did he tell you stories about Kirkwall?” When Krem nodded, Dorian said, “That’s Varric’s elf. The one with the lyrium markings who fought the Qunari alongside the Champion.”

Krem remembered some nonsense about the elf brandishing a sword that was bigger than he was. And how he had the ability to punch through people’s chests and rip their hearts out. “Then what’s he doing here, as a slave in your house?”

Dorian tried to remember everything that Varric had ever told him about Fenris. Dorian knew that Varric had never forgiven Hawke for selling Fenris back to his old master. Fenris and Hawke had briefly been lovers, only Fenris, for some reason, had broken up the Champion. Then, when Fenris’ old master had shown up in Kirkwall, Hawke had gotten his revenge for being dumped by handing the ex-slave over. And Fenris, crushed by the betrayal, had gone quietly without a fight.

“The Champion sold him back to his old master,” Dorian said. “I can only assume that he wiped Fenris’ memory. Years of freedom, gone.” Dorian paused, thinking. “Varric said that he was quite good with a blade. And that his markings somehow connected him to the Fade.” Dorian paused again. “Maker’s arse, I wish I could remember more.”

Fenris returned. As he poured the wine, Dorian studied him again. His heart hadn’t done that weird little flip this time, but with that hair, those eyes, and that wiry build – it was a little discomforting how similar he was to the Inquisitor.

Dorian indicated the remaining empty chair. “Sit down, Fenris.”

Obediently, Fenris sat down in the offered chair, folding his hands in his lap, and crossing his ankles beneath.

“Tell me the earliest thing you remember.”

Fenris frowned a little. He didn’t like this question. But, to refuse his master’s son was unthinkable. “I remember waking up in Danarius’ – my master’s – bed. He said that everything was going to be all right.” Fenris frowned again. “I can’t remember anything before that.”

 _Magister Danarius._ Dorian had known the man, mostly by reputation. Rumored to be a maleficar, and didn’t fit anyone’s definition of _nice_. “How long ago was that?”

“Three years ago,” Fenris said. “No – perhaps four.”

Dorian tried to judge his age. Very fine lines around his eyes. He was in his thirties, easily. Probably not quite in his forties. That this Danarius had wiped out at least thirty years of his slave’s life... rather despicable, really. “Have you ever left Tevinter?”

“Not... that I remember.”

Dorian switched out of Tevene. “Can you speak the King’s Tongue?” he asked in common.

“Yes, I can,” Fenris replied in the same.

Using Tevene again, Dorian asked, “I don’t suppose you know how to wield a weapon? The sword?”

Fenris shook his head.

Dorian considered him for another moment. He knew all that he needed to know for now. “Thank you, Fenris. You may go.”

Fenris nodded subserviently again, rose from the chair, and then slipped out of the room.

It was quiet as the two men sipped their very fine wine.

Then Krem spoke. “You’re thinking again, Chief.”

Indeed, Dorian was thinking about his friendship with Varric. During his time in the Inquisition, the two of them had become close. And it was obvious how Varric had felt about his old friend, the elven ex-slave from Tevinter. If Dorian could help... well, there was only one right course of action.

Dorian reached for the wine bottle, refilling both their glasses. “I think things have just become a little complicated for us, Cremisius,” he said. Then he smiled. “But do enjoy the wine. I believe it cost my father more than I’m paying you for a month of service.”

***

Dorian paused before knocking on the door of his father’s study.

Of course he didn’t want to be alone with his father. Yes, they’d reconciled in Redcliff because the Inquisitor had insisted that Dorian listen to what his father had to say. By then, Dorian was already half in love with the Inquisitor and would have done anything for him. But that didn’t mean that everything in his relationship with his father was hunky-dory now.

Why couldn’t he let that hurt go?

“Come in.”

Dorian opened the door to find his father seated at his desk, writing. As Dorian came in, Halward carefully lay down his quill and regarded him. Surprised, and perhaps a bit pleased to see him? “Yes, Dorian?”

Dorian crossed his arms, then lifted one so his right hand fluttered by his chin. “I’ve come to ask you for something.”

“Oh?” Halward said. “You seem hesitant to ask, Dorian. Have I ever denied you anything before?”

 _Only my freedom. And happiness._ Dorian opted not to say this. It was true that his father had given him every material comfort. “I want Fenris,” Dorian said. “Full ownership.”

His father leaned back in his chair. Growing up, Dorian had access to all the family slaves, so he’d never possessed one of his own. Even though most men of Dorian’s age and standing usually had a household full of slaves and servants.

Of course, most men of Dorian’s age and standing already had wives and perhaps a child or two of their own.

It had not escaped Halward’s notice that Fenris was very similar in appearance to the Inquisitor. A man – _no, not even a man, an elf!_ – for whom his son had obviously harbored fond feelings.

“Why Fenris?”

“You don’t have a use for him,” Dorian repeated his father’s words back. “I do.”

Halward frowned slightly. “I have to question what, exactly, that _use_ is.”

Knot in the belly. More than angry, Dorian was repulsed. Offended. “Father, _stop.”_

Halward looked at him curiously.

Dorian drew a sharp breath, letting his anger spill out. “Stop assuming that I’m intimate with every man I talk to. Or that I want to sleep with every man I set my eyes on. I do have friends, Father, male friends, who, as it turns out, much prefer more feminine charms.”

Halward waited.

“And I have never used one of our slaves for sex! It would be abusive and just... wrong,” Dorian said. His look was almost accusatory. “You’re the one who taught me that.”

Halward waited.

His anger already waning, Dorian sighed. “Someone needs to make the tea and do the laundry,” he grumbled. “Krem is good at killing things, but he can’t cook worth a damn. Seriously useless. How someone can screw up a simple sandwich is beyond me, but Krem somehow managed to do it. Most disgusting thing I ever tasted.”

His father sighed, folding his hands before him on the desk. “Forgive me, Dorian.”

Dorian blinked.

His father sighed again. “You realize that your... preferences are no longer a secret. People are going to make the same assumptions that I did.”

“I don’t care what _they_ think.”

His father regarded him with a hint of surprise again. “But you care about what _I_ think?”

Dorian crossed his arms tighter about him, staring at a corner of the desk, not wanting to give his father the satisfaction of his answer.

How many times had Halward seen his son, standing just like this in his office, petulant and brooding, and awaiting judgment after he’d been expelled from another Circle for disruptive behavior? He’d been so worried about Dorian’s future in those years. And so proud of him when he’d passed his exams and become an enchanter. Then everything had fallen apart. Loving his son wasn’t enough to fix things – could he ever make amends?

“I’ll get the papers,” his father said, ringing a bell and opening a drawer. When Dasio appeared at the summons, Halward sent him to fetch Fenris.

His father had just handed him the papers when Fenris entered. “You called for me, Master?”

“Yes, Fenris,” Halward said. “I wanted to tell you that I’ve given you to my son. Dorian will be your master from now on.”

In the slave’s expression, a flash of shock and betrayal. Then he quickly averted his gaze. “Yes, Master.”

Dorian didn’t take the elf’s reaction personally. Slaves often became attached to their masters, and being given away must have felt like a punishment. Sort of like being kicked out of the Inquisition by the Inquisitor, he supposed.

“Fenris,” Dorian said gently. “Please go find my bodyguard and ask him if would like to join me for tea on the veranda in an hour.”

Green eyes blinked up at him. “Yes...” he said, then added slowly, as if trying it out, “...Master.”

Dorian watched him go. He was thinking that an hour should be a sufficient amount of time for what he needed to do, which was to poke around his father’s library, and then write a letter. Although he was already aware that his father’s library held little about the subject of mental magic. However, Dorian knew someone who possessed extensive knowledge about that subject, one of the senior enchanters in the Circle of Vol Dorma who had also been one of Dorian’s teachers.

“Is there anything else, Dorian?”

Dorian turned back to his father. “Yes, actually, there is one more thing. About a _servus publicus_ named Aclassi...”

 


	4. Vol Dorma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian visits one of his old teachers in Vol Dorma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorian is distracted, so his "bromance" with Krem is on hold. However, there seems to be a bit of a Krem/Fenris bromance going on. Okay, basically I think Krem should bromance everyone. Krem is awesome :)
> 
> I looked everywhere for a reference to billiards in DA 1,2, and 3 but couldn't find one. But I just liked the idea of the boys shooting some pool, so I've tossed that in.
> 
> As always, comments/crits are welcome!

After crossing the Nocen Sea, and a long ride from Asariel, Dorian, Krem and Fenris arrived in Vol Dorma.

Enchanter Mauclerus was a man of small stature, thin, yet elegant in his bearing, with long, graying hair tied back. He wore simple robes of black, and silver rings flashed on his fingers while he gesticulated, which was whenever he spoke. He greeted Dorian warmly, then offered him refreshments in his laboratory. He instructed Dorian to bring his slave with him, while Krem was dispatched to the kitchens where he would be given refreshments of his own.

Sipping tea and nibbling on sandwiches, the two men reminisced about Dorian’s time in the Circle of Vol Dorma.

“You were a hellion,” the older man claimed, somehow managing to not spill his tea as he gesticulated. “Immensely talented, of course, but you knew you were better than the others and didn’t let anyone forget it”

Dorian smiled. “Well, not much has changed.”

The senior enchanter returned the smile. “I should say not. Even here in Vol Dorma, people speak of the grand Tevinter altus who joined the Inquisition.”

 _Grand Tevinter altus –_ Dorian rather liked the sound of that. “I have a great, many amusing stories about that. Which mostly involve me being dashing.”

“I look forward to hearing them during your stay,” Mauclerus said. He then set down his teacup, glancing at Fenris, who stood quietly in the corner. “Now, though, I’d like to discuss this slave you wrote to me about.”

Dorian set down his own tea cup. “Unfortunately, Senior Enchanter, I’ve already told you everything I know.”

“That he has no memories prior to three or four years ago. And that you presume that his memory was wiped by magic.”

“Given what I know about his previous master – Magister Danarius – magic seems likely. Or a blow to the head. He wasn’t well-known for being a gentle man.”

Fenris stared down at the floor.

“Danarius? Yes, you do have a point.”

Dorian leaned forward, fingers entwined in his lap. “Senior Enchanter? I don’t suppose there’s any way to recover his memories? Or even tell if they’ve been removed completely?”

“It’s likely that they’re in his head somewhere. To permanently remove a single memory is possible. However, to remove a lifetime of memories is, for all practical purposes, impractical. Most likely, they’ve just been sealed off.”

“And to remove that seal?”

“Would require some research. And some tests.”

“Tests?”

“Nothing too intrusive.”

 _Well... good._ Dorian didn’t like the idea of hurting Fenris, even if it was for his own benefit. “Then... where do we start?”

“I suggest we start by studying those markings. If they are extensive enough, then the amount of lyrium is going to affect any magic that touches him,” the senior enchanter said. He then beckoned to Fenris. “Boy, come here.”

Fenris glanced quickly as Dorian, who didn’t counter the command, and then walked across the room, stopping before the divan where the two men sat.

Mauclerus looked at Dorian.

Obviously to study the markings, they would need to _see_ the markings. “Fenris,” Dorian said, “please take off your clothes.”

Fenris’ eyes hit the floor again, but his hands moved to the sash that held his slave robes closed, long fingers working the knot. In a moment, the sash was on the floor. Followed by the robes themselves as Fenris shrugged them off and let them slide from his shoulders.

Uncomfortable, Dorian tried not to stare as Fenris’ fingers moved to the waistband of his small clothes, and slid those down as well. Once he’d stepped out of them, he stood still, gaze still pinned to the floor. His hands fluttered in front of him for a moment as if he didn’t know what to do with them, then he let his arms hang limply at his sides.

Then Dorian _was_ staring at Fenris. Not because he was naked and sexy as the Void – what Dorian was trying not to notice in the first place – but because Dorian had never seen more than a brief glimpse of his markings before.

Mauclerus had risen, and was now circling the elf, regarding him with interest. “They really are extensive,” he remarked with a hint of wonder in his voice. “The time it must have taken to do this... the amount of lyrium under his skin... it’s not negligible.”

Fenris as the subject of academic discussion made it easier to ignore the fact that he was male, naked and attractive. “So any spell we cast on him will have to take the lyrium into account, you mean?”

“Precisely so. But maybe more than that...”

Magical energy pulsed in Mauclerus’ hand, visible as soft, yellow light. As his fingers slowly traced one of the lyrium-infused lines across Fenris’ chest, the elf flinched.

Dorian had felt uncomfortable before, but as the other man touched Fenris, Dorian could feel the discomfort in his stomach, twinging, tight. “Fenris. Get dressed.”

Fenris moved hastily to comply.

Mauclerus sat down again next to Dorian, looking thoughtful. “Most strange,” he reflected. “When I pushed my magic at him, the lyrium in his skin pushed _back.”_

Dorian started. “So, you’re saying that he’s somehow... resistant to magic?”

“At least partially. I would like to conduct more tests, though, in order to ascertain the strength of this resistance.”

Which, Dorian thought, would most likely hurt him. “Is that necessary?”

Mauclerus gave him an odd look. “It will be, if we do find a way to restore his memories with magic.”

Dorian forced a polite smile. “Then I’d prefer to wait until we find it.”

***

After dinner, he regaled Mauclerus and his family with tales of his exploits in the south. Sang the praises of the Inquisition. Threw in stories of magical wells and archdemons being pulled out of darkspawn magisters’ asses. And painted Lavellan in the most flattering light.

He was tired by the time he retired to his room. But he sent the slave who had escorted him down to fetch Fenris.

Sitting down on his bed, he unlaced the collar of his shirt with one hand, sipping from the wine glass in the other. Questioned his decision to come to Vol Dorma. He’d only spent just over a week at home, making the rounds, and speaking to anyone who would listen to his plans for restoring the Imperium to its former glory. And had found an ally in Magister Maevaris Tilani.

It helped that the Inquisition had aided Maevaris in convincing the Magisterium to condemn the Venatori. And, then, later they had helped mitigate potential Venatori counter-attacks. And it also hadn’t hurt that Dorian had been able to give her news of Varric, to whom she was – almost inexplicably – related by marriage.

Still, he’d already written to Varric to report the death of Danarius and his acquisition of Fenris. And promised to seek out a way to restore Fenris’ lost memories to him. And peppered the letter with a dozen different questions about what Fenris had been like as a free elf in Kirkwall.

A few minutes later, there was a light knock on the door, and Fenris crept in. “You asked for me, Master?”

“Shut the door, Fenris.”

Fenris obeyed. He glanced at Dorian, shirt half open, on the bed, still sipping wine. Then immediately stared down at the floor.

Dorian had seen that gesture often enough by now that he knew what it meant. It was the only way he could hide. And he had the skittish way about him that slaves who were abused – physically or sexually – tended to possess.

 _Hiding from me..._ Which meant that he expected Dorian to punish him in some way. Or make use of him in bed. Though, given the fact that this was the first time Dorian had summoned Fenris to his bedroom, the latter seemed more likely.

Still, he’d had a terrible thought as he’d watched Fenris flinching under Mauclerus’ touch, and it had nothing to do with magic.

“Fenris?”

The elf lifted his gaze. “Yes, Master?”

 _Well,_ Dorian thought, _he is a slave, so there’s no need to be coy. Either he’ll know exactly what I mean or he won’t._ “When you were with Danarius, was one of your duties to have sex with him, or anyone else? Or give them sexual pleasure?”

This time, Fenris stiffened slightly before his eyes hit the floor again. His voice, when he spoke, had become strained. “Yes, Master.”

Dorian sighed. As disgusted as he was, he wasn’t really surprised. And he reminded himself that Fenris was his responsibility now, and that Varric would most likely never forgive him if he allowed Fenris to be abused again. “Listen to me, Fenris,” he said, as sternly as he could, and sounding, to himself, strangely like his father.

Fenris’ eyes snapped up.

“You are not allowed to have sex or give pleasure to anyone, even if they order you to. In fact, I don’t want anyone to even touch you. If they try, you will inform them that your master does not share you. If necessary, you will use force to defend yourself. Then you will come tell me immediately. If you do not do these things, the punishment will be severe.” Dorian paused, watching this information sink in. “Do you understand me?”

On his face, there had been surprise and relief, followed by a flicker of fear at the threat of punishment. “I... I understand, Master.”

“Good,” Dorian said, almost mildly. He took another sip of wine. “That will be all, Fenris. You may go.”

Another flicker of surprise, then Fenris slipped quickly out of the room.

***

Three days passed before Krem saw Dorian again.

He was bored. At least back in Qarinus, he’d spent some time drinking tea and conversing with Dorian on the veranda of his parents’ house, or trailing behind him at some soiree or other in the evening. Being on guard, at least, gave him something to do, kept him sharp. Plus, he’d had the opportunity to drill with Dorian’s father’s men a few times, and then, when he wasn’t on guard duty, drinking and playing cards with them in the barracks. There were some decent men among them, and had even shown Krem some respect when he revealed that he’d seen some action in Seheron. Not the worst way in the world to make a living.

Here in Vol Dorma, though, they didn’t go out. Dorian spent all day studying with his former teacher in the library, and was content to pass the evenings with Mauclerus and his family. It was by sheer luck that Krem encountered the mage in the kitchens, raiding the pantry one afternoon.

“I was hoping to find you, Chief.”

“Something wrong, Cremisius?”

“Just wondering how long we’re going to stay in Vol Dorma,” Krem said. “It’s been at least two months since I’ve had to crush something trying to kill us.”

While on the road to Tevinter, they’d had to fight. Their last encounter being with some very foolish highwaymen who had tried to rob them. Unfortunately for their attackers, by then Dorian’s magic alongside Krem’s steel was a combination that had become impossible to beat.

“I’m rather busy,” Dorian said dismissively. “If you’re bored, Cremisius, then go play with Fenris. Or read a book. Or go find a tree to stab with your sword. Something.”

It wasn’t entirely the response that Krem had hoped for. Of course he’d had down time before, in the Army and with the Chargers, but here... here he was useless. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

That evening, having nothing better to do, Krem made his way to the slave quarters.

In retrospect, perhaps it wasn’t the best decision. Clearly, the slaves weren’t used to having a human in their midst, because he’d set them in a tizzy. Still, it was a bit too late to retreat. And Dorian’s slave was not so difficult to spot among the others, with that white hair of his.

“Hey, elf,” Krem said. “If you’re not doing anything else, then... come with me.”

Fenris considered that. This man was his master’s servant, which meant that Fenris should do what he said. Except... that he hadn’t given an order, exactly. More of a request? Still, Fenris wasn’t really doing anything. His master hadn’t even called for him in three days, not since that night he’d told Fenris that no one else was allowed to touch him.

Krem was thinking that perhaps this had been a foolish idea but then Fenris rose to follow him.

They went up the stairs, and then Krem led him towards the east end of the house.

It wasn’t nearly as palatial as the Pavus house, but the Mauclerus family was still rich, and the size of the manor reflected that. They kept no guardsmen, though, so Krem had been given a smaller bedroom to himself near the kitchens which was probably intended for guests’ servants. And, since no one had told him he couldn’t, he’d wandered the grounds and explored the house on his own.

Which is how he had found the game room.

Pretty much any game that was popular in Tevinter could be found here, but it was the billiards table that had caught Krem’s eye.

Krem headed to the bar against the narrow wall. Opening the cabinet, he scanned the bottles inside and then selected one. Pouring the whiskey into a glass, he glanced over at Fenris. “You drink?”

There’d been a man, at one of Danarius’ private parties, who’d given Fenris too much to drink. He hadn’t liked how his head had spun, or how sick it had made him. Sometimes, though, Danarius would give him a large glass of wine, and he’d liked how it had made him feel, how it had taken the edge off any hurts. “Sometimes. Just not... too much.”

Krem filled another glass. Handed it to the elf. Then jerked his chin towards the table. “I don’t suppose you know how to play billiards?”

Fenris shook his head. Mostly to dislodge the memory of the terrible things Danarius had done to him one night on a table quite similar to this one.

“It ain’t hard. I’ll show you.”

Fenris watched curiously as Krem set his glass down on the edge of the table, then selected two cue sticks from the nearby stand. Passing one to Fenris, he gathered the balls and let them roll across the table. The white ball he set down in front of him.

“The point is, you use the stick to strike the white ball, and knock the colored balls into any of these pockets. Like this.”

Fenris watched as Krem positioned the stick, then struck the cue ball. It knocked into a solid purple ball which then glided across the table, then sank into a pocket. Retrieving the cue ball, he set it in front of Fenris.

“Try it.”

An order. _No, not an order – a suggestion._ Fenris tried to copy Krem’s move. Except that the stick slid off the side of the ball, sending it nowhere.

Then Krem was beside him. One hand repositioning the angle of the stick, as the other adjusted Fenris’ fingers.

An alarm bell rang in Fenris’ head as Krem’s hand covered his. His eyes snapped to Krem’s face, expecting a lascivious stare, but the bodyguard was staring down the stick at the table. Then, a few seconds later, he stepped back, picking up his drink again, his eyes still focused intently on the cue ball. “Now try it.”

Fenris waited for his heart to stop thumping, then struck the cue ball again.

It was better this time. Krem watched him practice knocking a few balls around before he started gathering them all together. “Let’s play. I’ll rack them.”

As Krem racked the balls, Fenris picked up the glass Krem had given him. Took a sip. Smooth, sweet sunshine coursed down his throat. He licked his lips before taking another sip.

Krem explained the rest of the rules briefly, then they started to play.

After the third game, Krem refilled their glasses. They didn’t speak much as they played, though every now and then, Krem would make a comment.

“Been a while since I had a chance to play billiards. Last time was with my Captain, after we’d cleared out some giant spiders in some noble’s estate in Nevarra.”

Later. “Then there was the time we fought a bunch of bandits to save a village and they paid us in rice. Don’t know why I’m thinking about that, though. Still. Rice.”

Later. “You’re not the talkative type, are you?”

Later. “You ain’t Dalish. Were you born a slave?”

Fenris hadn’t responded before, as a response hadn’t seem required. But now, Krem had straightened up, and was looking at him expectantly from the other side of the table. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“Your old master never told you anything about your past?”

Danarius’ words floated back to haunt him: _You always were and always will be mine, my little wolf._

Still, he’d heard things from the other magisters in Danarius’ circle. And from the other slaves in the house.

“I ran away once. For about nine years. And when Danarius caught me, he punished me by taking away my memories.”

Krem cocked his head. “You know that Dorian’s trying to figure out a way to get them back for you.” Krem’s lips curved in a wry smile. “Knowing the Peacock, though, he probably didn’t even ask you if you wanted them back.”

Fenris frowned a bit. The idea of his master asking him what _he_ wanted seemed absurd.

Krem laughed softly at the look on Fenris’ face.“Now I gotta ask. _Do_ you want them back?”

Perhaps it was because of the whiskey, but Fenris felt a flare of annoyance at the way his master’s servant was laughing at him. And no doubt the whiskey had loosened his tongue. “Would _you_ want to remember a life in servitude with a cruel master?”

Realizing what he’d just said, and how he’d said it, Fenris paled, his eyes automatically on the floor.

There was fire in this elf. Krem liked him a little better. “Yeah, I see your point,” Krem finally said. “But you were free once. You had friends. Some of those memories might be worth having again.”

Fenris lifted his chin, his eyes creeping up to assess the expression on the soldier’s face. But Krem had already leaned over the table again, taking aim.

They played for another hour. Fenris replaced the cue sticks as Krem picked up their empty glasses. At the door, Krem stopped and tilted his head, looking at Fenris. “Want to play again tomorrow?”

 _Another request... not an order._ Playing billiards with this man... it had been distracting and not... unpleasant. “As long as my master doesn’t need me, then... yes.”

 


	5. Orb of the Dreamer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still in Vol Dorma, Dorian researches in his ex-teacher's library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody knows how Fenris' lyrium markings actually work, but Dorian comes up with a theory which is just as good as any, I suppose. :)

After a week immersed in Mauclerus’ library, Dorian hadn’t found any solutions to counter his ex-teacher’s suggested method for unsealing Fenris’ memories.

Blood magic.

The suggestion had been academic, meant to answer the question of the best and safest way to break the seal in Fenris’ mind without permanently destroying his memories or damaging his brain. Merely for the sake of argument. Mauclerus pointed out that Dorian shouldn’t be surprised. For breaking any kind of barrier or seal, nothing worked half as well or as efficiently as blood magic.

_Blood magic – the last resort of the weak mind._

And Dorian was not weak.

Still, he was feeling discouraged. He decided to get some fresh air by taking a stroll around the terrace.

It was a mild Tevinter Spring day, which meant that it wasn’t particularly sweltering. As Dorian walked, he thought. The senior enchanter had recently asked around about Fenris. Originally, Danarius had been experimenting with lyrium with the intention of making a weapon. After, Fenris had been trained to fight and became Danarius’ bodyguard. Somehow, the lyrium in his skin allowed him to touch the Fade and become incorporeal. And, according to Mauclerus’ sources, Danarius had enjoyed making his pet display his unnatural talent by plunging his lyrium ghost fist into the magister’s rivals’ bodies, solidifying, then ripping out something crucial. Or just stepping into the space their bodies filled, then solidifying all at once.

In a sick, morbid way, Dorian wanted to see that. Unfortunately he didn’t have any enemies nearby to brutally and dramatically kill.

He’d just come around the corner when he encountered Krem, leaning against the railing, staring off into the distance.

Dorian had teased his henchman about possessing only two outfits: _Armor_ and _Not-Armor._ Currently he wore the _Not-Armor:_ a structured jerkin over a tunic, both sleeveless, that displayed some impressively-muscled arms, loose breeches, practical boots – all as equally southern as the armor.

“You know, Cremisius, for the son of a Tevinter tailor, you’re disappointingly dressed.”

Krem smiled as he saw Dorian. “Sorry, Chief. I’ll slap on some black and feathers tomorrow.”

“As long as you don’t wear black feathers. No need to be _too_ formal.”

Krem considered Dorian’s grave expression. “By the look on your face, Chief, your books aren’t giving you any answers.”

“Oh, they have answers. Answers that would probably permanently damage his mind somehow.” Dorian tilted back his head, contemplating the cloudless sky. “Oh, of course, we could fix him, without incident, with blood magic. Especially since, Mauclerus believes, that bastard Danarius used blood magic to fuel the spell.” Dorian frowned, thinking about the secondary tests that Mauclerus had conducted – both the painful effects, and the results. “In fact, he probably murdered someone to get the amount of blood he needed. Some other slave, I suppose.”

As Dorian’s frown deepened, Krem had an epiphany: what upset Dorian the most was that he’d encountered another man’s magic that was _stronger_ than his own.

Dorian sighed. “Well, I should go back to work. All’s well with you, Cremisius?”

“Sure, Chief,” Krem said, then remembered what he’d wanted to ask Dorian the next time he saw him. “Actually, could you give Fenris some coin? Pocket change is fine.”

“Coin?” Dorian asked with surprise. “Slaves have no need of money. Why?”

“Because playing cards without coin isn’t as much fun.”

“That’s true,” Dorian murmured. “Wait – you and Fenris play cards together?”

Amusement twinkled in Krem’s eyes. “Yeah. Turns out he’s pretty good at Diamondback. Though he says he can’t remember who taught him.”

Dorian hummed thoughtfully. “Tevinter rules?”

“No. Free Marcher.”

 _Interesting. The King’s Tongue, Diamondback..._ Dorian wondered what else from Fenris’ past still lingered.

“You should join us some time, Chief,” Krem said. Then he smiled slyly. “And bring your purse.”

***

Later that afternoon, Dorian sat alone at the table in the laboratory, a book open before him among many scattered parchment pages.

He wasn’t getting anywhere. Danarius’ spell was a conundrum. He already knew what he would write to Varric later – to put it in dwarf terms, Danarius had used a big hammer to knock Fenris’ memories out. And Dorian needed a bigger hammer to jar them loose again.

With a sigh, he closed the book and watched Fenris, who was quietly gathering up the tea things.

He moved purposefully, with a modicum of grace. Long-fingered hands clinked the cups, then pushed white hair out of green eyes behind the pointed ears. Beneath the slave robes his body was lean, somewhat willowy.

They were the robes all the slaves at House Pavus wore. It only now occurred to Dorian that he could dress Fenris however he liked. Something tight and black, perhaps. Dorian pictured him like that for a moment.

Then Dorian was picturing the Inquisitor in something tight and black, his muscles rippling, as he fearlessly fired one of his arrows into a dragon’s eye...

Dorian wondered what the Inquisitor was doing now. There was always gossip about the Inquisition in Tevinter, but he tended to dismiss most of the rumors. Hopefully Varric would include news of his beloved Inquisitor...

Dorian had kept himself chaste for the Inquisitor. Even up to the bitter end, Dorian had truly believed he had a chance. Lavallen had flirted with him – _encouraged_ him, even. Therefore it really _had_ been a long time since he’d had sex. A fact he was reminded of as Fenris bent over to pick up the tea tray, the flimsy material of his robes clinging to his rather fine ass.

 _Ugh. Maker, these feelings_ , Dorian thought as he watched Fenris’ fine ass sashay out of the room. _I should have just slept with Bull._

A few moments later, Fenris returned. “Is there anything else, Master?”

“Yes. Sharpen me a fresh quill, bring me another sheet of parchment, and put this book away on the shelf.”

The first two tasks were completed easily. As Fenris picked up the book, Dorian returned his attention to his notes, trailing the feather end of the quill across his lips as he considered what he’d written. Thus, he didn’t see the incident as it happened. Only later, did he manage to piece the details together.

He had taken the tome he’d been perusing from one of the higher shelves. Dorian had barely been able to reach that shelf, but Fenris, somewhat shorter because he was an elf, had to rise on tiptoes, straining to reach.

In his laboratory, Senior Enchanter Mauclerus kept some magic items of note. One of them being an Orb of the Dreamer. Although it was no _somnoborium_ , it was still a valuable object. It served to store Fade energy, and could be used to restore mana to a mage without resorting to lyrium. It was a rare piece of magic, and powerful. All swirled glass, it was also kind of pretty. If Dorian had possessed one, he probably would have kept it on display on a pedestal, as well.

The heavy tome slipped from Fenris’ fingers. Fenris instinctively dodged out of the way, a quick step to the right. As he did so, his hip slammed into the pedestal, knocking it over.

The orb, being all pretty swirly glass, shattered into dust as it struck the marble floor.

Also, the Orb of the Dreamer had not been empty. As it shattered, a shock wave of Fade energy pulsed though the room.

Although the table where Dorian sat was on the opposite side of the room, the blast knocked him clear off his chair. For a moment, he was literally too stunned to move. He couldn’t quite assess the damage it had done to his body, but it felt like someone had poked all his vital organs with a fork, his skin prickled all over in the most nauseating way, and his teeth tasted funny.

As for Fenris, he’d been at ground zero.

With that much raw energy behind it, the blast should have stopped his heart. Or possibly even liquified his insides. At the very least, it should have knocked him down. The wave, however, didn’t pass over him.

Instead it passed _through_ him, igniting the lyrium under his skin.

Whether the wave caused it to ignite, or Fenris flared it in response to the wave, Dorian had no idea. All he knew was that Fenris stood his ground, and, by his grimace, that what was happening to him wasn’t pleasant, and that his markings were glowing a vibrant blue. Even through the flimsy material of his robes, the glow, though muted, was clearly visible.

A moment – an eternity – later, Fenris’ markings flickered briefly before their light fizzled out. Shuddering, the elf pitched sideways, then caught himself by grabbing onto the bookcase.

Dorian had finally managed to stagger to his feet. Standing was difficult. Dorian was certain that the Fade energy had damaged his insides. He just wasn’t certain how badly. The fact that he was standing and still breathing, though, was a good sign.

Ignoring any lingering ill-effects, Dorian made his way over to Fenris. He was halfway there when Senior Enchanter Mauclerus appeared in the door, face pinched with anger.

Mauclerus had been in the gardens when he’d felt the dissipating edge of the blast. He’d known what had happened as soon as he’d felt it. And, seeing the elf standing next to the pedestal, he knew _how_ it had happened.

Mauclerus did not register how pale his ex-pupil looked. Nor did he stop to consider the consequences of being at the center of the blast. Fueled by rage, he strode forward, stopping only to snatch the riding crop off the nearby desk.

Fenris cowered as the mage raised the whip.

Then Dorian put himself between them, his back to Fenris as he stared down at the other man.

Mauclerus lowered the hand that held the whip, but his tone was reprimanding. “Dorian!”

“You will not strike my slave,” Dorian said. He’d meant to speak with conviction, but his voice merely sounded tired.

“He broke my orb! He deserves to be punished!”

Dorian briefly pinched the bridge of his nose. “Then _I_ will be the one to punish him,” he said wearily. “And I will repay you for the orb... somehow.”

It was obvious by the expression on the senior enchanter’s face that he was not pleased with Dorian’s promise of Fenris’ punishment, as opposed to the satisfaction to be had upon inflicting it himself. Nor that he believed Dorian’s promise of repayment, which was – given Dorian’s current financial situation – impossible. And Dorian was relatively certain that he was no longer welcome at the Mauclerus home.

Dorian forced a smile, and spoke as graciously as possible. “I wish to thank you for your hospitality, Senior Enchanter. You’ve been a delightful host.” When the enchanter did not protest at his offer of leave-taking, Dorian spoke again. “Fenris – tell Krem that we’re leaving.”

***

Dorian seriously considered making Fenris walk all the way to Minrathous. It wasn’t unheard of in Tevinter, of having the slaves on foot while the masters rode. However, he didn’t want the elf to slow him down. Once he and Krem were mounted, he held out a hand to Fenris, albeit reluctantly.

It _had_ been an Orb of the Dreamer, after all. And one of his old teacher’s prized and nearly priceless possessions. Dorian was still mortified that he – as it was _his_ slave who broke it – was responsible for destroying it.

Fenris stared up at Dorian’s hand, confused and uncertain. He was still waiting for, and dreading, the promised punishment. Not having any idea what sort of punishment Dorian would inflict upon him only made him more anxious.

Dorian spoke, voice strained. “Mount the back of the horse, Fenris.”

Fenris scrambled to obey. Dorian helped haul him up. Once straddling the horse behind him, at Dorian’s command, Fenris put his arms around his master.

As they headed out of Vol Dorma, Dorian considered the feel of the elf pressing against his back, arms around his waist. And regretted not making the elf ride with Krem.

Strangely, Dorian’s back felt all tingly. Though he wasn’t sure why.

For a while, there was only the sound of the horses’ hooves clopping over the cobblestones.

Finally Krem spoke. “Chief? You want to tell me what happened back there? The thing that made my teeth tingle?”

“I’ll tell you later, Cremisius. Right now.. I must say... I feel...”

 _Strange_ was what Dorian was going to say, right before he suddenly blacked out.

As he slouched over, Fenris’ arms, flashing blue, were the only thing that kept him from falling off the horse.

***

Dorian woke later, on a strange bed, in an unfamiliar room, to hushed voices.

A woman’s unfamiliar voice, curt. “He should be fine,” she said. “Though I’d strongly recommend a full night’s rest.”

_Oh, so I’m an invalid now, am I?_

A concerned rumble. “But what happened to him?”

_Excellent question, Krem._

“In terms you can understand, _Soporatus_? He overdosed on magic. His body couldn’t handle that much magical energy all at once, and it began to shut down.”

_Tevinter society – how I’ve missed your charms. Everyone in their place._

“Like when a Templar takes too much lyrium?”

A disdainful snort.“Not really. But I have better things to do than explain it to you.”

Dorian stirred, sitting up. The woman in mage robes was young, with dark hair swept back, olive skin, a classic profile. “Healer – please examine my elf for injury.”

Fenris shrank back as the healer’s magic poured over him. A few moments passed before she turned to Dorian. This time, her tone was sycophantic.

“He’s uninjured, _Altus._ Although he’s radiating an unnaturally immense amount of magical energy. Are those markings... _lyrium?”_

By her change of tone, Dorian knew exactly what the healer’s rank was. He gave her an icy stare. “In terms you can understand, _Laetan_? Yes. But I have better things to do than explain it to you.”

Put back in her place, the healer cowed.

“Krem – pay her.”

Having dismissed the healer, Dorian flopped back down on the bed. Given the way he felt, he was going to follow her suggestion of a full night’s rest. “Where are we?”

Krem, standing near the door, crossed his arms as he leaned back against it. “Still in Vol Dorma. At an inn. We would have carried you back to Mauclerus’, but I figured we wouldn’t exactly be welcome.”

“I’m sure that’s rather an understatement at the moment.” Dorian sighed, pressing the palm on one hand against the twinge of pain that had manifested in his forehead just thinking about how _completely_ the orb had shattered. Still, he explained to Krem what had happened: the nature of the orb, Fenris breaking it, and the subsequent release of energy. Which should have killed Fenris on the spot, but hadn’t even harmed him.

Fenris quivered in the corner. Not only had be made his master’s teacher very angry, Fenris was the one responsible for _hurting_ his master. He was terrified at what the punishment would be. So when Dorian’s gaze fell upon him, Fenris nearly pissed himself.

“Come here, Fenris.”

A part of him wanted to flee. But, moving on shaking legs, eyes down, Fenris approached the bed.

“Roll up your sleeve.”

Fenris obeyed.

Dorian’s hand hovered in the air above Fenris’ arm. Maker, he could sense it even without trying, prickling madly all over his palm. “ _Venhedis,”_ he muttered, half-mystified, half-impressed. “The energy didn’t pass _through_ him. He fucking _absorbed_ it.”

“So,” Krem quipped, “what you’re saying, Chief, is that you own a sponge.”

“A sponge that absorbs fucking Fade energy,” Dorian corrected. “As far as I can tell, the lyrium allows Fenris to open a channel into the Fade, where he draws raw energy and converts it into power. He really is a weapon.” Dorian marveled over the energy pulsing within those lyrium veins. “I’m in no way condoning what Danarius has done, but... it _is_ absolutely amazing.”

“So Tethras’ stories might be true, then.”

“Well, we _are_ talking about Varric. He likes to embellish.”

Krem hummed in agreement.

Dorian glanced up at Fenris, literally quaking in his sandals. It wasn’t too difficult to figure out why. “Fenris, what happened wasn’t your fault – well, it _was_ your fault, but it isn’t like you did it on purpose. So I’m not going to punish you.”

Green eyes snapped up, full of disbelief. “But the healer said... if you’d been closer...”

“Don’t worry. I’m not that easy to kill,” he said, then rolled over. “What I am is exhausted and cranky, so – Krem, go get your own room, and – Fenris, go sleep with the other slaves.”

 


	6. His Silent Sword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and the boys return to Minrathous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may be my favorite chapter in the entire story. All Krem/Dorian interaction. And Krem finally gets a chance to crush something trying to kill them. It was so much fun to write.
> 
> A big THANK YOU to everyone who has given kudos and made comments on this story! I hope the rest of it doesn't disappoint!

At Fenris’ expression of dismay, Krem gave him a reassuring smile, although he was secretly glad that he wasn’t the only one discomfited by the magical lift in Varian’s building.

There were stairs, Krem had discovered, but Dorian just quipped that, after living in Skyhold, he’d had enough stairs, thank you very much.

Out of the cage, down the corridor, and then they were at Varian’s door again.

Despite the late hour, Dorian’s friend greeted him with a quick, warm embrace and a wide smile. To Krem, he gave a polite nod. “Come in, come in! I just opened a bottle of something red from Perivantium.”

Dorian smiled. “Not another gift from a student, I hope?”

“No, no. From the wine seller on Vicus Victoris.” His eyes moved to Fenris, flicking up and down, before he turned back to Dorian with surprise. “And what is this?”

“What it looks like,” Dorian said. “A slave my father gave me. He’s called Fenris.”

Varian’s eyes flickered over Fenris again, then the look he gave Dorian was of wry amusement. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Dorian, I don’t have slave quarters here.”

Dorian shrugged lightly. “He can sleep on the floor.”

“Suit yourselves,” Varian said. Then, “Wine? Dorian? Cremisius?”

Dorian had Krem show Fenris the location of the bathroom so that the elf could take a much-needed bath, then the two men each accepted a glass of wine. Once settled down in the living room, Dorian and Varian spent a little time catching up.

Krem half-listened to Varian’s report. There was talk of parties and the names of magisters sympathetic to their cause. Also, Varian had continued to conduct meetings in Dorian’s absence, and their number had expanded so that now, including Dorian, there were eight of them.

Dorian smiled. “My own private _altus_ army,” he said. “Just what I’ve always wanted.”

A little while later, Fenris shuffled back in, dressed in his slave robes again, his hair wet.

Varian made his excuses of having to teach in the morning. He wished them all good night before he retired to his room.

Back in their own room, they dropped packs again. “Well!” Dorian chirped. “This is even cozier.”

Krem’s eyes were laughing at him as he began to unbuckle his armor. “We could have just gone back to your aunt’s house, Chief.”

Fenris leaned back against the wall, trying to stay out of the way, waiting for Dorian to tell him what to do, as clothing and armor started falling to the floor.

Dorian had kicked off his boots. In a flash his mage robes were off, though he’d worn trousers below them for riding. His hands moved to the front of his pants, unlacing. “True,” Dorian agreed. “But I like Varian. Not so sure how I feel about my aunt. And her house smells like old widow: face powder and murder.”

Greaves hit Krem’s pile before he knelt down to unlace his boots. “The face powder I’ll believe. But I’m pretty sure you enjoy the smell of murder.”

Dorian considered that. “As long as its not my own, then, you might have a point.”

Then, in one fell swoop, Dorian pulled down his small clothes along with his pants.

Fenris blinked. Watched as Dorian straightened up and stepped out of his remaining clothes before reaching up to run both hands through his hair, muscles flexing and rippling. Then realized that he shouldn’t be staring at his master’s naked body without permission. Averted his eyes only a second before Dorian’s gaze swung his way.

“Actually,” Dorian said as he slipped under the sheets. “Let me revise what I said about my aunt’s house. The problem is that it doesn’t smell like good old-fashioned sword or magic murder. It smells like arsenic poisoning murder. Which is too bitter for my tastes.”

Krem’s vambraces hit the pile with a soft clang, and he started on the pauldrons. “Sword murder doesn’t always smell that great. Depends on what you’re sticking your sword into. You ever smell the insides of a giant spider, Chief? It ain’t nice.”

Dorian made a face of disgust. “Unfortunately, I have.” Then he laughed. “Thanks for that lovely reminder, though.”

It was Krem’s turn to laugh. Pauldrons in the growing pile of metal, he removed the chest plate. “Any time, Chief.”

Fenris finally lifted his eyes from the floor. Dorian sat in bed, partially covered by the blanket, smiling mirthfully at Krem. Still, not wanting to stare at his Master naked in bed, Fenris averted his eyes again, this time to the only other person in the room.

He was just in time to see Krem peel off the last piece of armor. Chain links clinked as they joined the pile.

This time, he couldn’t help but stare. Directly at Krem’s chest.

Krem noticed. Dorian noticed that Krem noticed. Then a series of glances were exchanged between the three of them before Fenris stared down at the floor again.

Krem and Dorian had been together in close proximity long enough that he knew Krem’s habits. Whenever he wore regular clothing, he would bind. In his armor, however, all that stiff flat metal hid everything quite well. Now, in just his tunic, unbound, it was impossible not to notice.

Dorian laughed softly. “Your secret is out, Cremisius,” he said with amusement. “I’m sure it’s still safe, though.”

Krem frowned, self-consciously crossing his arms over his breasts, looking... uncomfortable.

Dorian puzzled over that for a moment. He and Krem had stopped being modest in front of each other some time ago. Krem hadn’t seemed particularly bothered the first time he’d seen Dorian buck naked. He’d even joked about Dorian’s well-muscled body being wasted on a mage. As for Dorian, he had no particular aversion to the female body. He just wasn’t interested.

Then he glanced at Fenris, still trying to hide by staring at the floor... _oh._

He knew that Fenris had slept with the Champion of Kirkwall. Once. Which was not a definitive answer about Fenris’ feelings towards the so-called fairer sex. “Fenris?”

“Yes, Master?”

“Tell me – why were you just staring at Krem? And be completely honest now.”

Flustered, Fenris stammered. “I... didn’t realize he... that he had...”

Dorian interrupted. “Okay, yes, we get that part.”

“I was just... surprised,” Fenris finished.

Dorian turned to Krem, his expression one of amusement again. “Apparently he was just surprised. Serves you right for passing so well.”

Krem gave Dorian a moody glare.

Dorian’s expression changed, unusually serious as he stroked his chin. “You know, Cremisius, magic can do a lot of things. Wouldn’t it make your life easier if your outsides matched your insides?”

Krem considered that. Then he smiled slyly. “If they did, Chief, that would just make it harder for you to sleep in the same room as me.”

Dorian stared at him. Actually considered _that_ for a moment. Then burst out with a bark of laughter. “Then, well, seeing that you’re safe for the moment, there is room in the bed.”

“Floor is fine for me,” he told Dorian. “Spent plenty of time sleeping on the ground round a campfire with the Chargers. The elf can have it.”

In Dorian’s voice, a warning. “Krem...”

Krem gave him a look that said that sleeping on the floor next to the elf was was not acceptable, and this request was non-negotiable.

Dorian sighed. “The things I do for you, Cremisius...” He threw back the covers as he looked at the elf. “Very well. Fenris, you’ll be sleeping in the bed with me.”

***

It felt good to be back in Minrathous after the dull week he’d spent in Vol Dorma.

Even if it meant following Dorian around at parties, listening to the same old talk again. And Dorian had wasted no time getting himself invited to the most important ones. Tonight’s outing was to a ball, the fourth soiree in almost the same number of days since their return.

From what Krem could tell, the outspoken _altus_ was making a name for himself. It didn’t hurt that he now had Magister Tilani’s support. It certainly didn’t hurt that he’d been part of the Inquisition, either. In his favor, too, was the fact that people assumed that Dorian’s return to Qarinus meant that he was once again heir to his father’s seat in the Magisterium. And finally, although Krem wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about this, there had been a ripple of respect when Dorian had shown up with Magister Danarius’ most beautiful and deadly possession.

In particular, Krem didn’t feel good over the distressing stories he’d overheard about just what, exactly, the perverted magister had done to his slave – in public or in private. Krem liked Fenris. They weren’t best friends or anything, and the elf still wasn’t very trusting or talkative, but when they played games together, especially over a drink, Fenris sometimes let his guard down, and showed Krem that spark of fire.

Tonight they had left Fenris at Varian’s place, so, as the walked home after the ball, it was just the two of them.

Dorian’s mood was contemplative. Though, given the number of times he’d let his wine glass be refilled, he was probably also a bit drunk. “You realize, Cremisius,” he said, as they walked, “that everyone I talk to, everyone who says, ‘Oh, Maker yes! Blood magic is bad!’ is most likely making use of it behind closed doors.”

Still feeling irritated, Krem snorted. “To be honest with you, Chief, all magic’s the same to me. Ain’t got none in my family, so that means I got to grow up a second-class citizen, one step up from the _liberati._ ”

“Krem!” Dorian protested, nearly reeling with shock. “Do you have any idea how dangerous blood magic can be?”

“What? ‘Cause someone might inadvertently become possessed by a demon?” Krem scoffed. “How often does _that_ happen, anyway?”

“It’s not just about demonic possession! Blood magic can tear rifts in the Veil.” Seething sarcasm, Dorian snarled, “In case you missed the whole Inquisition thing, _Soporatus_ , rifts into the fucking Fade are _bad._ ”

Krem heard all the scorn and derision that Dorian had just packed into Krem’s rank. He returned it tenfold. “The way you prattle on about the use of blood magic, _Altus,_ I’m surprised there aren’t rifts on every fucking corner of Minrathous.”

Dorian stopped. _This soporatus asshole._ Gave Krem an aggravated glare. “How dare you...?”

Krem cocked an eyebrow, daring Dorian to finish that sentence.

Dorian seethed in silence for a moment.

_Wait – why are we arguing? About blood magic?_

Dorian sighed. “Fine,” he said, as calmly as possible, through only slightly gritted teeth. “The real problem with blood magic isn’t the risk of demonic possession or tearing holes into the Fade. There is a slight chance, those could happen, but, yes, you’re correct, it’s relatively rare. No, the real problem is that blood magic gives the user the power to control people’s minds. Think on it, Cremisius – the power to control other people – the temptation to misuse it – that kind of power can only corrupt. Which leads to more blood magic, into a never-ending cycle of killing for more power, and more corruption.” Dorian drew a breath. “ _That’s_ why it’s dangerous.”

Krem mulled over what Dorian had just said. “But what if you used it for good?”

Dorian shook his head. “Problematic at best, I’m afraid,” he said. Then: “Krem, are you trying to annoy me on purpose?”

Krem’s mouth twitched. Then: “Suppose I’m just wondering... if you wanted to do something good... like restore the elf’s memories to him... wouldn’t that make it okay?”

Dorian paused. _Did he really just suggest that I use blood magic?_ “No!” he snapped. “It wouldn’t be okay!”

“Not even if I offered to let you use my blood?”

Dorian stared at him. “Are you serious –?” he began, then stopped himself. _No._ He would not. _Not ever_ . He suddenly realized that Krem wasn’t trying to antagonize him. _He just wants to help Fenris._ But Krem knew little about how magic actually worked. “To be honest, Cremisius, even if I _were_ willing, which I’m _not_ , chances are good that the amount of blood I’d need would most likely kill you.”

Krem was about to speak, when a flash of movement to his right caught his eye.

A sudden flash of steel in the dark. Krem reacted by grabbing Dorian’s sleeve and pulling him out of the way, even as his other hand moved to unsheathe the sword at his side.

The assassin’s knife sliced through the air, missing its mark.

Dorian spun about. Saw the shapes of men emerging from the shadows. Reached for the staff he wore slung across his back even as Krem took up a fighting stance.

“Allow me!” Dorian cried as he swung his staff around, sending a blast of fire straight at their attackers.

The street lit up as fire shot across the space. Yet the flames, when they reached the assassins, spread open, cascading around the dark-clothed men, before dissipating in the dark.

There had been no effect from his spell. _What in the Void...?_

Krem moved, swinging his sword. Sound of steel on steel. The another swing, followed by a scream of pain, blood raining down on the pavement.

 _Fire not effective_ , Dorian thought. Given the amount of fire in his arsenal of spells, that put him at a disadvantage. Someone had known that, and had sent these assassins prepared with some sort of magical resistance against fire. His mind scrambled for an alternative as he shifted back, into the shadow.

Once the man before him had fallen, Krem risked a glance at Dorian. The mage was raising his staff at the men before him. But he seemed completely unaware of the assassin at his back, lifting his knife, glinting greenly with poison in the moonlight.

Krem’s job was to protect Dorian at all costs. Turning his back on the others, Krem surged forward towards Dorian, shoving the mage out of the way as the assassin’s knife fell. Without thinking, Krem had put himself between Dorian and his attacker’s blow.

_You’re safe now. I’m Iron Bull. What do you want me to call you?_

Just in the nick of time, Krem raised his shield to just barely block the deadly strike.

Dorian stumbled aside. Heard the thunk of a blade as it sank into the wood of Krem’s shield. _Maker..._ Sound of steel in flesh as Krem’s sword then hissed through the assassin’s throat.

Spell at the ready, Dorian turned to the remaining assassins, and let it fly.

It had a name: _Walking Bomb._

Krem spun about, sword ready for the next foe. But then he stopped at the sight of their attackers, staggering in the street, glowing an eerie purple for a moment before they exploded.

Blood and guts spattered the street horrifically all around them.

Krem stood still, breathing hard, as he considered the gore around them. Yes, the threat was definitely gone. He shot a glance at Dorian, who was running a shaky hand through his hair, the staff in his other hand lowered towards the ground.

“Chief?” Krem ventured. “What was that spell?”

Dorian considered the street, painted red with blood. “Just a little bit of... death magic.”

Krem stared at him. Yes, there had been rumors at Skyhold that Dorian was a necromancer, but, being a mage from Tevinter, there had been a _lot_ of rumors about him, and none of them good. “Isn’t that... black magic?”

In Dorian’s mind, there was difference between forbidden magics – such as blood magic – and the other dark arts – such as necromancy. Strangely, of the inner circle, only Cassandra – being from Nevarra and accustomed to the _Mortalitasi_ – had understood that difference.

Dorian would have given Krem a righteous and indignant defense of his actions right then, except that he was all too aware that the Charger had just saved his life. Maybe twice. “I... perhaps we can discuss this, Cremisius, as we make our way home.”

 


	7. Intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter arrives from Skyhold. Dorian makes Krem an offer. And Fenris finally learns what his new master is intending to do with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more Fenris in this chapter, since I neglected him painfully in the last chapter.

Dorian rolled over in the bed. There wasn’t even a window in Varian’s spare room, so it was always dark. He felt another body – hard, male – beside him. Still in the haze of sleep, Dorian shifted closer until his chest was pressed against the man’s back, and slung an arm around the man’s waist.

As he floated closer to wakefulness, he became more aware of the body against his. Warm skin, which smelled good – a bit like fresh linen and cardamon, with just a hint of muskiness. Soft hair tickled his nose. That smelled of Varian’s sandalwood soap.

That hazy thought made him realize where he was, and that the man pressed against him was Fenris.

Dorian took a moment to savor the situation. Fenris against him felt nice. Sort of like how it felt to have Fenris holding onto him from the back of the horse, only more dangerous because there was so much skin. There were only Fenris’ small clothes between them.

Perhaps the elf was still asleep. In a whisper, he quested, “Fenris?”

Fenris tensed, then whispered back. “Yes, Master?”

“Go make us some coffee, please.”

Fenris complied with haste. Slipped out from under Dorian’s arm, tossed on his slave robes, and was still knotting the sash as he made a dash for the door.

Outside the room, Fenris paused, a hand pressed over his hammering heart. When his master had put an arm around him, he’d assumed it meant that sex would follow.

He noticed Varian at the table in the kitchen, regarding him with curiosity. Lowering his hand, Fenris slunk quietly into the kitchen.

Returning his attention to the letters he’d been reading, Varian ignored him as Fenris set about making the coffee. He had just completed this task when Dorian exited the bedroom, then sauntered to the kitchen, where Fenris slid a cup in front of him as he sat down.

As part of their morning ritual, Fenris sat down in the remaining chair, wrapping hands around his own cup.

Varian greeted his friend with a teasing smile. “How old are you, again, Dorian? Partying all night, then sleeping away most of the day?”

“Old enough to not want to answer that question,” he said. “I would add that there was a Chantry mother at Skyhold who called me a young man, but that may be relative seeing that the old crone was at least ninety.”

Varian slid a small package across the table. “Speaking of Skyhold, this came for you this morning.”

The return address simply read: _V. Tethras, Skyhold._

Within the package was a letter and a book. Glancing at the cover, Dorian snorted a laugh – it was Varric’s own book, _Tale of the Champion._

When Fenris looked at him curiously, Dorian said, “Do you remember that dwarf I told you about? Well, he wrote this book. And you’re in it.”

Fenris frowned in puzzlement. “I’m in a book?”

Dorian flipped the book over. On the back cover, there was a series of drawings of highly-stylized faces, with shadows in place of eyes. Fenris stared in wonder as Dorian indicated one of the faces, surrounded by a shock of white hair, with what appeared to be lyrium marks on his chin.

“That doesn’t look anything like me,” Fenris mumbled, just under his breath.

Smiling to himself, Dorian opened Varric’s letter.

***

In the afternoon, Fenris made them black tea, sweetened, Tevinter-style. Another one of their little rituals since coming to Minrathous.

As he waited for the tea to steep, Fenris was thinking. Dorian had been his master for more than a month already. Slaves loved to gossip, so Fenris had been aware that he was lucky when Halward Pavus purchased him about seven months ago. Pavus slaves were well-treated compared to slaves in other magisters’ houses. Like his father, Dorian asked very little of Fenris. In fact, compared to most slaves, he was practically pampered.

From the other slaves at the Pavus house, Fenris had heard all about the fall-out between Dorian and his father, and their eventual reconciliation in Redcliff. It was no secret that Dorian preferred the company of men, and that his past affairs had caused scandals. So when Halward had given Fenris to Dorian, he assumed that his new role was to keep Dorian out of trouble by being his pet. After all, that had been his main function for Danarius.

Fenris still expected Dorian to make him his pet. He’d noticed how Dorian would sometimes look at him with hungry eyes, especially when Fenris undressed at night. And he’d said in Vol Dorma that he wasn’t going to share Fenris with anyone.

The relief he’d felt at hearing that was no small thing. Danarius had shared him with other men. Most of those men had clearly enjoyed hurting him. So at least he wouldn’t have to worry about being given to some cruel or sadistic stranger for a night of blood and fire.

Fenris sneaked a look at Dorian, sitting on the divan, reading his new book. Fenris told himself that he was still lucky, even if he had to eventually serve as plaything in Dorian’s bed. Dorian wasn’t a cruel master, so... perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible? He hadn’t even punished him for breaking that orb. Unlike Danarius, who had punished his slaves viciously for the slightest infraction, real or imagined.

Yet, even though Fenris was now sleeping in his master’s bed, they hadn’t done anything yet. Though, perhaps that was just because they weren’t alone in the room?

Once the tea was ready, Fenris brought all three glasses to Dorian who, with a touch of a finger, cast a cold spell, just enough to ice the tea. Fenris left two glasses on the table near the divan, delivering the third to Krem, who sat at the kitchen table playing solitaire.

Krem gave him a wink before returning his attention to the cards. Fenris vaguely wondered if Krem could shed some light on Dorian’s intentions. Perhaps he’d be able to muster up the courage to ask Krem later.

For now Fenris sat down on the divan next to Dorian and reached for his tea.

Dorian read another paragraph, then tossed the book aside in disgust. “I can’t read any more of this plebeian drivel!” he announced. “I swear that I lose an IQ point every time I turn the page.”

Krem gave him an amused look. “Were you expecting high literature from Tethras?”

“Ah, yes. Silly me.”

“By the way, you gonna tell me what he said in his letter?”

Varric had said a lot of things – mostly little tidbits about the inner circle, and some of the Inquisitor’s recent activities. Dorian had eaten up every word like candy until he’d nearly choked on the nostalgia. “Apparently, Bull is, shall we say, _courting_ one of the tavern girls at Skyhold. With red hair and, I quote ‘in Krem de la Krem’s honor.’”

“Honor ain’t got nothing to do with it,” Krem grumbled, but he was smiling. “He always had the hots for her.”

Dorian opted to not mention the fact that Bull had the hots for just about anyone who _breathed._ Himself included.

“He also said that Fenris, while with Hawke, had started to regain some of the memories he’d lost when Danarius wiped them the first time – though that, apparently, was just an unfortunate side effect of the pain caused by the branding. So Varric has already taken the liberty of writing to Hawke to ask him _how.”_

Krem thought. “You sure it wasn’t blood magic?”

“Hawke? Oh, no, quite sure. It was the only thing I liked about the man – his fanatical hatred of blood magic.”

“So you think Hawke might know of a spell you don’t?”

“It could be Free Marcher magic,” Dorian admitted. “Really, Krem, I don’t know _everything_ about magic. No one can.” Dorian paused, looking at Krem thoughtfully. “Speaking of magic... you know, Cremisius, all joking aside, we really could make you a man.”

At that, the expression on Krem’s face was so hurt and shocked that it was terrible.

It took Dorian a second to realize that he’d just implied that Krem _wasn’t_ a man. “Maker’s arse, Krem. That came out all wrong. I only meant that we could fix your body.”

_That_ wasn’t any less offensive. Still hurt, Krem’s voice became frosty. “I wasn’t aware that I was  _broken.”_

_Open mouth, insert foot twice._ Maker, what was wrong with him? He sighed. “Forgive me, Cremisius. I am a terrible man. And an insensitive ass. Can I start over?”

Krem relaxed a little, his expression less pained.

“How about: Krem, would you be interested in having... more masculine parts?”

Krem ran a hand over his hair. The Inquisitor had asked him something similar once. The answer he gave to Dorian was the same. “To be honest, Chief, I wouldn’t want any magic like that within ten yards of my body.”

Dorian was both offended and hurt that someone would reject his magic. Rejecting his magic, in Dorian’s mind, was tantamount to rejecting  _him._

“Well,” Dorian said, after he’d composed himself. “If you ever change your mind...”

Krem reminded himself that Dorian was just trying to be helpful. “You’ll be the first person I tell.”

“Good,” Dorian said, though he did still feel bad that he’d hurt Krem’s feelings. He picked up his tea, taking a sip as his gaze fell upon the elf sitting next to him, in his slave robes, feet bare. Then he recalled what Krem had asked shortly before they’d left Vol Dorma.

“Fenris, go get my purse.”

Obedient as ever, Fenris rose from the divan. A moment later he returned with Dorian’s coin purse.

“This is for you.” Dorian counted out some coin, which he gave to Fenris. “You may do whatever you like with it, but I will suggest that you try not to lose it all to Krem playing cards.”

Fenris looked confused, but pocketed the money away. “I... thank you, Master.”

Dorian glanced at Krem. “Actually, Cremisius, why don’t you take Fenris out to the market?”

“The market, Chief?”

“You’re always complaining about how bored you are, so this will give you something to do. Oh, and while you’re there...” Dorian tossed the coin purse at Krem, who snagged it deftly out of the air. “Buy him some clothes.”

“Clothes?”

“Yes. Preferably something that doesn’t shout ‘slave of House Pavus’ but whatever he wants should be fine.”

***

Dorian sat on the divan, one of Varian’s books open in his lap, while Krem sat in the nearby chair, his feet propped up on the table, reading _Tale of the Champion._

Except that Dorian couldn’t really focus on the words before him. He was still puzzling over the whispers he’d heard last night at a private party. Rumors about how a certain Magister Tullius had been the one who sent the assassins after Dorian. That he was somehow involved with the Venatori.

There were always whisperings about the Venatori.

Dorian was puzzled because Tullius had long been an ally of his father. A rival, he would understand. Kill the scion of your rival, shake down the House – especially if it were the sole heir recently returned to claim his father’s place in the Magisterium.

It wasn’t entirely true, of course, but letting people think that he was still heir to his father’s seat gave him more leverage than he would have had otherwise. Fortunately, his parents had remained tight-lipped about the matter, even with their friends.

Perhaps he should write to his father to ask about Tullius. Although, at the moment, the only place suitable for writing a letter – the kitchen table – was currently occupied by Fenris, who was folding the laundry upon it.

Absentmindedly fingering the pages of his book, Dorian watched Fenris. He was wearing some of his new clothes. No more robes – instead he wore a form-fitting pair of dark pants, and a rather simple tunic in gray, also rather tight, that laced up the front. Maker, he was skinny. Whatever muscle he’d had as a sword-swinging mercenary had disappeared after years of idleness. Dorian vaguely wondered if they were feeding him enough. He was still sexy as the Void, however – Dorian kind of wanted to trace his fingers over all those jutting bones. Collarbones and hip bones in particular. Or maybe just lick them. He wondered how Fenris would taste.

Dorian became aware that Krem was watching him leering at Fenris. Dorian cocked an eyebrow at his henchman. “Is that how he’s dressing from now on?” Dorian quipped. “He looks like a southern solider.”

“You said he could have whatever he wanted. That’s what he picked out,” Krem said. Then he carefully set the book down, spine up, on the table before him. “We had a very interesting conversation at the market yesterday.”

“Not about shoes, I suppose. Or the price of ham?”

“Nah. It was about why you’re not having sex with him.”

Dorian glanced at Fenris. Who was giving the folding of Dorian’s small clothes a lot more attention than they deserved, one ear cocked. Turning back to Krem, he said, “Are we really having this conversation? Now? In front of him?”

“It’s about him,” Krem said. “Shouldn’t he hear it from your mouth, just what you intend to do with him?”

“I wasn’t  _intending_ to do anything with him. Other than restore his memories.”

“And how much longer do you think that’s going to take?”

Dorian opened his mouth. Then closed it. If Hawke had an answer, then... weeks? Months? And if Hawke didn’t have an answer...

“Wait,” the enchanter said. “What, exactly, does this have to do with sex?”

“It been over a month, Chief,” Krem said gently. “It’s the not-knowing what your intentions are that scares him. So you should either promise him that you won’t make him your sex slave, or take him into the bedroom now and get it over with.”

_Ugh._ Saying that he didn’t  _want_ to take Fenris into the bedroom would be a lie. In Tevinter society, it wasn’t unusual for all masters to make use of their slaves that way. In fact, sometimes, it was even encouraged, particularly with favored slaves, for a variety of reasons. The temptation was there – Dorian knew that he could snap an order and, in a heartbeat, have Fenris beneath him. And nobody would bat an eye.

_Think on it, Cremisius – the power to control other people – the temptation to misuse it – that kind of power can only corrupt._

For Dorian it was unthinkable. “No, I’m not going to make him my... pet. My family has never abused our slaves. We certainly don’t use them for sex. Slaves can’t give consent.”

The men glanced at Fenris. Fenris quickly returned his attention to refolding the laundry.

“Besides,” Dorian said lightly. “I’d much rather just  _pay_ for sex. It makes things so much simpler. Rules are clear, services are rendered, and no pesky moral dilemmas.”

Krem decided not to point out any possible moral dilemmas associated with prostitution in Tevinter. Particularly the one about how most brothels used slaves. “Well,” he said, unable to entirely keep the doubt out of his voice. “That’s one way to look at it, Chief.”

“As if you’ve never, Cremisius,” Dorian teased. “Don’t I recall you saying something about The Flaming Rose?”

Krem vaguely regretted having mentioned that now. He decided to change the subject. “Well, if you’re not going to make him your pet, then what are you going to do with him?”

Dorian’s gaze fluttered back over to Fenris. Considered him for a moment. The elf was a weapon, so, really, there was only one fitting long-term solution. “Could you retrain him how to fight?”

Krem’s eyes lit up. “There’s a courtyard out back where we could practice,” he said. “We’d need some training swords to start, though. You know – the wooden kind. I’d hate to accidentally get chopped in half if he started glowing blue.”

Dorian laughed softly. “That would be a shame. And messy.”

“As if you’d be the one to clean me off the pavement.”

Dorian laughed again. “True.”

Setting his book aside, Dorian stood up, then sauntered over to the kitchen. Stood next to Fenris, leaning one hand against the table. “Fenris?”

Fenris lifted his head, green eyes inquisitive.

“I rather think Krem would enjoy training you how to bash things with steel,” Dorian said. “If you become good enough, then perhaps you can eventually serve as my bodyguard. Would that be acceptable to you?”

Fenris was still trying to process the entire conversation.  _Not pet... but bodyguard?_ “You’re... giving me a choice?”

“Yes, well. You don’t have to decide right this minute.”

Fenris glanced at Krem. Krem smiled at him encouragingly. Fenris looked back at Dorian.  _Yes. I would fight to protect this man._ “I will be your blade, Master.”

 


	8. Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Due to Krem's influence, Fenris is finally beginning to come out of his shell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly longer chapter for you. Oh, Maker, are you still reading this monster of a fic? THANK YOU.The Fenris/Krem bromance is definitely on at this point. 
> 
> "The World of Thedas v2" has been immensely useful for working out the details of Dorian's youth. Apparently Dorian had quite a few moments of being, shall we say, a naughty young man? So his meeting Magister Alexius in a brothel is actually all in canon. 
> 
> As always, I appreciate your comments, kudos, feedback and other lovely things. :D

The sky over Minrathous was a gray haze, trapping the heat. Brawls in the street were more numerous than usual, men and women of lower classes bared more skin, and children begged more vehemently for shaved ices and ice creams.

Varian’s dwelling may have been small, but at least the building was magically kept at a comfortable temperature year round.

Dorian had made his way down in the magical lift, taken a twisting turn, and passed through the door that led to the courtyard in the back of the building. By the time he reached the other side of the courtyard, he was already sweating.

At the other end of the courtyard, Krem and Fenris were lunging at each other, wooden swords clacking.

After a week of practice, Krem had suggested that Dorian come down to watch Fenris in action.

There was a small stone bench nearby, so Dorian sat on it.

Krem gave Dorian a nod of acknowledgment, then gestured at the elf to stop. Fenris promptly stepped back, lowering his sword.

“Elf,” Krem ordered. “Free form.”

Fenris’ response was loud and brusque, like a soldier. “Understood.”

Krem dashed forward, sword swinging.

Dorian wasn’t a fan of sword fighting. Magical duels were more his area of expertise. Still, he could recognize basic moves such as feinting and parrying, and he knew a skilled swordsman when he saw one. Krem was quite skilled. Every movement was precise, having purpose, nothing wasted.

Krem was on the offensive, slashing, thrusting. Yet, every movement he made, Fenris somehow managed to twist his body, raise his arm, blocking and dodging every move, as if he’d been using a sword all his life, and not just a week. He remained on defense, but each of Krem’s strikes was met with a resounding _clack!_

As they fought, Krem pushed harder, moved faster. And Fenris kept up with his attacks. Soon the fight was just a flurry of movement, the sound of strikes pounding down like rain.

Fascinated, Dorian watched as they danced across the courtyard. Krem, dressed in his _Not-Armor,_ sweating profusely in the heat, pressing the elf back. And Fenris, shirt off, his bare chest glistening, moved like a dwarven machine in response to Krem’s attacks.

No amateur should have been able to defend himself against Krem’s vicious onslaught. And yes, even to Dorian, it was clear that Fenris didn’t know how to turn things around, to put Krem on the defensive. He was only able to respond to the sword sailing through the air at him, moving gracefully to block it.

There was no thought behind his movements. Instead, it was muscle memory, his body repeating motions he’d probably made a thousand times before.

Krem made a move to disarm him. Fenris reacted by sidestepping and pulling back, and then, in the slim moment that Krem was extended, Fenris flicked his wrist as he thrust upward, blade swiveling to slam against Krem’s wrist.

Before Fenris’ sword could make contact, Krem pivoted his body, and his free hand shot out, seizing Fenris’ sword arm by the wrist. Dorian had seen this sort of move before – if he’d been using his shield, he would have just bashed Fenris to the ground. It was such a Bull move – though the Qunari used his head instead of a shield to bash his enemies – that Dorian started to feel nostalgic for the days he’d battled at the Inquisitor’s side.

Following through, Krem twirled Fenris around, then slammed a shoulder into him. At the same time, he released the elf’s wrist. Fenris staggered back a few paces.

Krem barked an order. “Stand down!”

Fenris, as he straightened, immediately lowered his sword. Half-naked, glistening with sweat, chest heaving, he was sexy as the Void.  _Oh damn this pretty ass elf._

Krem, grinning, lifted a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Well, Chief?”

Dorian smirked. “Cremisius, if you’re asking me what I think about two sweaty men lunging and thrusting at each other, then I think we already know what the answer is.”

Krem sniggered as he reached down to pick up a nearby water skin from the ground. “Always happy to help you out in the fantasy department, Chief.”

“If you really wanted to help, Cremisius, you would have oiled Fenris up first.”

Krem choked on the swig of water he’d been taking.

Fenris blinked at Dorian.

It was really too hot outside for Dorian’s tastes. Rising from the bench, Dorian looked at Fenris. “Speaking of oil...” Dorian said, “Varian has some with wintergreen in it. It’s good for sore muscles.” He smiled lasciviously. “Come see me later if you need me to help you work out any...  _kinks._ ”

Fenris blinked again.

Krem watched Dorian saunter back towards the building, then chuckled softly at Fenris’ expression. “You should see the look on your face.”

“He wants me... oiled?”

Krem took another swig from the water skin before passing it to Fenris. “Nah. He was just... flirting with you.”

Fenris took a slow sip of water, unconvinced.

“I guess you’re not used to that.”

He was used to being told what to do. In general, no one exchanged flirty sexual banter with a slave. There was little point. And, although he’d been called beautiful or sexy before, it hadn’t been flirting. “Not... really. No.”

Krem smiled softly at him. “Well, it doesn’t mean anything. Dorian flirts with everyone he likes – male or female. So you should try to get used to it.”

_Everyone he likes..._ Then, that meant that Dorian _liked_ him?  Still not entirely convinced, Fenris nodded.

Krem watched Fenris mulling over that for a moment. Then he took the water skin from Fenris, capping it before he tossed it aside. “If you’re ready, there’s a move I want to teach you.” Krem grinned as he took up a stance. “We call it Charging Bull.”

***

One night, Dorian went out, leaving – for the first time since he’d departed Skyhold – his bodyguard behind.

Krem, naturally, protested.

“Krem, stop fussing like a mother hen,” Dorian admonished as he adjusted his cravat in the mirror in the bathroom. “Why, it’s been weeks since anyone has tried to assassinate me! I’ll be fine.” He paused to check his hair and teeth – both, as usual, perfect. “Besides, Calix and Julian will be there. We’ll watch each others’ backs.”

Calix and Julian were two of Dorian’s _altus_ friends from the meetings. Both powerful mages. The three of them together probably possessed enough fire power to burn half of Minrathous to the ground. Still, Krem wasn’t happy about it. But Dorian had made up his mind, and no argument could change it.

At the door, Dorian smiled slyly. “Oh, and, boys? Don’t wait up for me.”

As the door clicked shut behind him, Krem and Fenris exchanged a glance.

“Wicked Grace?” Krem suggested.

Since Varian declined to join them, Krem and Fenris sat at the kitchen table, sipping Sun Blonde Vint and playing cards until it grew late.

For Fenris, it was strange to go to bed alone.

Even stranger was waking up alone.

He sat in the bed, staring at the empty shadows of the sheets where his master would normally be. According to the morning ritual, Fenris would wait until Dorian woke up and told him to make the coffee. Now he didn’t know what to do.

Eventually Fenris came to a decision. He rose from the bed, dressed, and went to the kitchen.

Varian sat at the table, drinking tea, and writing on a piece of parchment. “Dorian home yet?”

Fenris shook his head. As Varian returned to his writing, Fenris moved to fill the kettle.

As Fenris waited for the water to boil on the stove, Krem stumbled in and then stood next to him. With his shoulder, he gave Fenris a little shove.

Green eyes flashed up. Saw the redhead’s playful smile.

“You don’t have to make coffee for me, you know,” Krem said. “Not all of us are spoiled peacocks.”

Fenris, returning the smile, shifted, his own shoulder bumping against Krem’s. “Perhaps I’m not making it for _you.”_

About two weeks had passed since Dorian had revealed that he had no intention of making Fenris his pet. About the same amount of time since Krem had started training the slave how to fight. And in that time, something in Fenris had started to change. Less anxious, and more open, he’d even started smiling now and again to Krem’s gentle jibbing. And sometimes, that spark of fire would appear and Fenris would tease back.

Growing up in Tevinter, Krem had never imagined that he’d become friends with a slave. But he wasn’t really surprised by this turn of events, either. Male bonding over cards was one thing, but allowing someone to swing a sword at your head – even a wooden one – required a certain level of trust. Sword training also involved a certain amount of physical contact – adjusting Fenris’ grip on the sword, positioning his arms, correcting his stance – and only recently had Fenris stopping flinching or getting that panicked look in his eye whenever Krem touched him.

Once the coffee had finished brewing, Fenris prepared them each a cup, and they sat at the table.

At some point, Varian glanced up. Noted the serious expression on Krem’s face. “Worried about Dorian, Cremisius?”

In fact, he was. He grumbled, “I can’t protect that fool-headed mage if he runs off all night.”

Before Varian could reply, the door opened and Dorian stumbled in. Three pairs of eyes watched as he crossed the room.

Varian laughed. “Dorian! Do you have any idea about the state of your hair?”

Both hands fluttered up, trying to smooth down the disaster that was his head. He shortly gave up. “Well, whatever it’s doing, it was certainly worth it,” he murmured with a coy smile. “And – can you believe it? – after all these years, they actually remembered me.”

“What, after the scandals you caused with your debauchery?” Varian asked. “Dorian, please. Even now, people will ask me if those stories of your exploits are true.”

Dorian recalled some of his wilder days. And nights. All right, so he _could_ be excessive at times.

Varian was still chuckling at him. “Also – weren’t you only about sixteen at the time?”

“Ah. Something like that, yes. Which is why I’m so surprised that they still remembered me.” Dorian smiled. “Actually, that’s where I met Magister Alexius.”

Varian blinked. “You met Alexius in a brothel in the elven slums?”

“Wait – it gets better,” Dorian said with unbridled glee. “I was, shall we say, a bit drunk at the time, and invited him to _join_ me.”

Varian burst into laughter. “And then?”

“He laughed. Right before he tossed me into his carriage and dragged me back to the Gilded Quarter. I believe you know the rest of the story.” Dorian’s eyes swept across the table. Empty cups before them, Krem was looking at him with amusement, while Fenris sat, quiet as usual, expression neutral, but listening with head slightly cocked. “Fenris – go draw me a bath, please.”

The sound of the water rushing into the tub drowned out the sounds of the voices in the other room. Once he’d adjusted the temperature, Fenris fetched the soaps and perfumed oils that Dorian liked. He was just laying out the towels when Dorian came in, shutting the door behind him before he started to undress.

His task done, Fenris quietly crept towards the door, but his master’s voice stopped him.

“Stay, Fenris. I’d like you to wash my back.”

Fenris froze, then waited, his eyes flickering between Dorian and the floor.

Naked, and cheerfully humming a jaunty tune, Dorian paused before the mirror. Great Maker, his hair really was a mess. Though it _had_ felt really good when the boys – well, young men, really – ran their lithe elven fingers through it. Also, he needed to work out more, before Tevinter living made him soft. Perhaps _he_ should start training with Krem.

He felt Fenris’ eyes on him. As Dorian turned, Fenris quickly averted his gaze. Dorian briefly wondered if perhaps the elf hadn’t just been checking him out. And once again he wondered about the exact nature of Fenris’ tastes.

Of course Dorian had met Hawke at Skyhold. They’d even traveled to the Fade together. They had clashed, despite their both being powerful mages, passionate about their beliefs, and having strong personalities. Or perhaps because of it. Still, it hadn’t escaped Dorian’s notice that the Champion was tall, dark and handsome.

Teasingly, Dorian said, “I’m prettier than your old master, aren’t I?”

That was... permission to look. Fenris lifted his head, eyes sweeping all the way up. Drinking him in. Assessing. Judging. “Danarius was an old man, so being prettier than him isn’t much of an accomplishment.”

Realizing what he had just said, Fenris’ gaze shot immediately to the floor.

Dorian decided to be delighted by the elf’s wit, rather than feel insulted. With a small snort of laughter, he turned, and climbed into the tub, sinking slowly into the hot, perfumed water. As he did so, Fenris moved to kneel down behind him.

“Actually,” Dorian decided, feeling lazy, “wash my hair first.”

Deep in the tub, Dorian tilted his head back as Fenris proceeded to wet his hair before lathering it up. As Fenris’ lithe elven fingers raked through his hair, Dorian recalled last night’s pleasures.

Krem had given a little look of disapproval when Dorian had announced where he was going. Yes, he knew that most of the whores in the elven slums were probably slaves – the reason for Krem’s disapproval. Yes, he could have gone to any number of different establishments and spent more coin to assure himself that the men in his bed were there by choice, but they would have been human. After spending so many months longing after the Inquisitor, it had to be an elf. And Fenris, so tempting and still sexy as the Void, was off-limits.

Actually, he was even sexier now. Daily swordplay with Krem had started to build back lost muscle, giving him some interesting hard edges.

Once Fenris finished rinsing Dorian’s hair, Dorian leaned forward so that the elf could wash his back.

Having soaped up the sponge, Fenris started scrubbing.

He used to do this for Danarius.

As he rinsed off the soap, he was thinking about how different his new master was. Dorian actually was pretty... well, handsome. And his skin was so much smoother than Danarius’. Strangely, touching him didn’t disgust Fenris.

“Thank you, Fenris,” Dorian murmured, his voice somewhat sleepy. “Oh, and tell Krem to take you out somewhere. I’m going to bed and I don’t want to be disturbed for at least eight hours.”

***

Minrathous was the largest city in all of Thedas.

Still, Krem didn’t worry about getting lost. No matter where they roamed, the Circle of Magi could still be seen, towering over every other building.

Glancing back at it as they made their way through the streets, Krem couldn’t help but make a comment. “I still think it’s creepy, though. Really, they just built it that way to remind the rest of us – everyone who’s not a mage – how the magisters rule over us all.”

Fenris looked over his shoulder, considering the tall peaks of the Circle. “They say that it’s not this way in the rest of Thedas,” he said. “Is it true that magic is disparaged in the south?”

Krem swallowed a laugh. “‘Disparaged’? More than that – mages down south aren’t treated any better than slaves. The Templars control them.”

Fenris tried to imagine living in a place where magisters didn’t rule. Here, in Tevinter, magic was everywhere. It was all he knew.

He reminded himself that he hadn’t always lived in Tevinter. That he’d lived down south once. And, although he couldn’t imagine it, he’d been free once. “Have you ever been to Kirkwall?”

“Me? Nah. The Chargers get around, but we never made it to Kirkwall.” Krem paused, studying Fenris. “Dorian’s been there before. Said it was a shithole.” Krem paused again. “Can’t be any dirtier than Minrathous, though.”

Minrathous had been all Fenris knew, at least until Dorian’s father had brought him back to Qarinus. Which, incidentally, was cleaner than the capital. “Where are we going, human?”

“Not sure,” Krem said. “It’s too early to go to a bar. You don’t have enough money to go to one of the gambling houses...” Krem paused, thinking. Then his eyes lit up. “We could go to that place in Vivazzi Plaza, the one with the dancers. I hear they have lots of pretty girls.”

Fenris cocked his head. “Girls?”

Krem grinned. “That’s assuming you like pretty girls...” he said teasingly, then nudged Fenris with his elbow. “Or maybe Dorian’s hard, manly body is more your thing?”

Fenris frowned. “I don’t... have a... _thing._ ”

Krem gave him a sidelong glance. He’d read enough of Varric’s book to know that the elf, once, had harbored feelings of that nature for the Champion. “Oh, yeah? Then why do you start acting all funny any time Dorian takes his clothes off?”

Fenris felt the heat rising to his face. He didn’t know how to explain that. At first, he’d been afraid that Dorian was going to use him. In his experience, sex was pain. And, yet, he was aware that his experiences were limited. There had been a fair amount of talk about sex amongst the slaves at the Pavus house – for them, it was something natural, and pleasurable. Even after half a year, Fenris still had trouble wrapping his head around that concept.

Yet... just this morning, looking at his master’s naked body... he’d felt...

They were still walking. Coming around the corner, Krem stiffened. A few yards away on the street before them were half a dozen men, dressed in the armor of the Imperial Army.

One of the soldiers looked their way. Surprise danced over his face as recognition kicked in. “Aclassi!”

Krem swore. Then he grabbed Fenris by the sleeve, dragging the elf along as he spun and dashed down the nearest alley.

The soldiers gave chase.

They careened down the alley, took a turn, then ran down another alley. Breathless already, Fenris tried to make sense of the situation. “What–?” he panted.

Krem risked a glance behind them. The other men were still close on their tail. “Just keep running!”

Fenris ran. Barely managed to keep up with Krem. They took another turn, then another turn, and then Krem was shoving him through a nearby door.

Into a shop.

Krem grabbed him by the arm, dragging him in, away from the door.

The sounds of boots thudding the pavement, growing louder, then growing faint again.

Fenris glanced at Krem, who stood with his back against the wall, eyes closed, chest heaving. When he opened his eyes, they were wild, and full of something that Fenris would never have expected to see in the ex-soldier.

Fear.

He didn’t have much time to speculate about that. They’d dashed into an apothecary’s shop. Other than the shopkeeper, the only other person there was a customer. Fenris had paid no attention to either one of them, at least until the elven woman, who’d just purchased something, spoke, surprise in her tone.“Fenris...?”

Fenris turned. Then froze, shocked speechless.

Then Krem was behind him, one hand on Fenris’ shoulder, the other hovering near his sword. “You know this woman?”

Somehow, the reassuring presence of Krem behind him was enough to rattle the words out of his throat. “Yes. Varania. Danarius’ apprentice.”

As Krem was behind him, he didn’t see the man’s expression, but he felt Krem’s fingers twitch, tightening around his shoulder.

He wanted to explain. To tell Krem that Varania was the only person who had ever treated him with anything resembling kindness – at least, as far as he could remember. But the words were stuck in his throat.

Her eyes – green as his – quested over him. Then glanced at Krem. “You have a new master now...?”

“He does, but I’m not him,” Krem said when Fenris didn’t respond. “But I’m sure he’d like to talk to you about that spell that wiped Fenris’ memories.”

“I...” she began, her eyes darting nervously about. “I can’t help you. I’m sorry.”

As she moved quickly to the door, Krem let go of Fenris, reaching out to grab her by the arm. “Wait!” Krem said. “You must know something –”

Varania turned, magic crackling in her hands.

Krem sucked in a sharp breath, releasing her and instinctively jerking back.

Then she was out the door and gone.

***

When Dorian’s arm encircled his waist, Fenris was suddenly awake.

He lay still in the bed. He could feel the warmth of Dorian’s body where it pressed against his back, and the weight of Dorian’s arm draped across him. Dorian’s breath was hot against the back of his neck.

Dorian snuggling up against him felt... nice.

That was surprising.

A whisper. “Fenris?”

Dorian was going to tell him to go make the coffee. But Fenris didn’t want to get out of the bed just yet. He was still trying to puzzle out this feeling.

He felt Dorian’s sigh as it tripped over his skin. Then Dorian’s hand as it started to move.

Light fingers trailed over his skin. Over his chest, then across his collarbones, and down his arm in a slow, tentative exploration.

Fenris couldn’t remember anyone touching him this gently before. It was new to him and... strange. Although his heart was pounding, he wasn’t afraid. Not exactly. Uncertain, more than anything.

_Or maybe Dorian’s hard, manly body is more your thing?_

Was it? As Dorian shifted, allowing his fingers to follow the trail of Fenris’ spine, then swerving to sweep down over his hip, Fenris realized that his body was responding to Dorian’s touch.

That was even more surprising.

His heart, which had merely been pounding before, now thundered in his ears as Dorian pressed a light kiss to the back of neck.

Fenris quivered.

Dorian’s hand stilled as he realized that Fenris was awake. Then he breathed in deeply, savoring Fenris’ scent. His sigh was equally deep before he rolled over onto his back. “Forgive me, Fenris,” he said softly. “I...” _Ugh_. “Just go make the coffee, please.”

Feeling guilty, Dorian tried not to stare at Fenris as he dressed. And he certainly didn’t want to stare at Fenris’ arousal, evident in his small clothes.

Once dressed, Fenris slipped out of the room.

Dorian sighed again. Wondered,  _Did I do that? Or was it just morning wood?_

_Maker’s balls, these feelings again._ Still, for a few minutes, all he could think about was how Fenris’ arousal looked, straining against his small clothes, how the scars felt under his hand, how delicious Fenris smelled, and how he could still taste the elf on his lips. 

Fondling Fenris while he thought the elf was asleep... Maker, he was a terrible man. If someone were to stab him later – always a possibility – he would _definitely_ deserve it.

Once dressed, he went to the kitchen and sat down next to Krem as Fenris placed a cup of coffee before him.

On the table was a letter addressed to him. From his father. Opening it, he then proceeded to read it with interest.

“Good news?” Krem asked when Dorian finally set the letter down.

“My father wants me to return home,” Dorian said. He glanced at Fenris. Going home, at least, would resolve the problem of having that temptation in his bed. He’d just been thinking that perhaps they would have to go stay at his aunt’s house after all.

Krem hummed. “So, it’s back to Qarinus, then?”

“Yes. I think we should,” Dorian said. “Less chance of the Imperial Army trying to kill you or force you into slavery that way.”

Krem looked as relieved as Dorian felt. “You can say that again, Chief.”

 


	9. Fathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family matters bring Dorian and the boys back to Qarinus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have much to say about this chapter. Apparently, I remembered that there is actually a plot... so plot stuff. Followed by Dorian finally joining the boys for drinking and Diamondback. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! :D

Once again, they traveled to Qarinus by ship. Rode from the docks to House Pavus. At least Qarinus was cooler than Minrathous had been when they’d departed. Then they were once again greeted in the foyer by Dorian’s parents.

This time, however, Halward didn’t send Krem to the barracks. “Dasio – please escort my son’s bodyguard to the sitting room.”

Krem gave Dorian a questioning look. But Dorian just handed his pack to the female slave. “Iona, be a dear and bring that to my room. Then have some tea brought to the library.” He smiled as he turned to Krem. “Find me after.”

 _After what?_ Krem wondered, but reluctantly followed Dasio out.

“If you don’t mind, Father,” Dorian said. “I’d like to poke around in your collection of physical magic a bit before dinner.”

“You know that you don’t need to ask.”

True. He didn’t know why he’d asked. Just to say something, he supposed. Stretching, he started towards the library, pausing to look at Fenris. “Fenris, feel free to do what you like this afternoon. Visit the other elves. Or go wash up. Or frolic among the flowers.”

Fenris had become accustomed to Dorian’s teasing – and, to some extent, his flirting. He’d also learned that the feistier or sassier his response, the more Dorian delighted in it. “I do not frolic.”

“Shame, that. Frolicking is _fun._ And I think I’d enjoy watching you frolic.”

As Dorian slipped off, Fenris wondered if _frolicking_ was a euphemism for some other word that began with the letter _F_. Knowing Dorian... probably. He then became aware that Dorian’s father was looking at him.

“Fenris,” Halward said. “I wish to speak to you. Please come with me to my office.”

He replied out of habit. “Yes, Master.”

***

Inside the sitting room, Krem waited as he’d been instructed by the head slave, drumming nervous fingers against his thighs as he perched on the edge of one of the armchairs. He knew that Dorian had arranged _something._ He just couldn’t fathom what it was.

Andraste’s blighted ass, he hated surprises.

Finally the door opened and a man was ushered in.

Short hair, as red as his own, falling into kind, brown eyes. Time had incised deeper lines in the familiar face. But the voice was the same, honey-warm. “Cremisia – it’s really you.”

Krem blinked, as if the man were merely an apparition that would vanish when he opened his eyes again. _But, no..._ he was really here.

“Dad...?”

***

Dorian, enraptured by the spell books in his father’s library, lost track of the hours, only to realize how much time had passed when Krem finally reappeared.

Finding the spell he wanted was easy enough. The problem was that it was a temporary spell. The trick was figuring out how to make it permanent while avoiding any hazardous long-term effects.

Staggering like a drunk, Krem crossed the room and fell into one of the chairs, his expression somewhat bewildered. “You found my father,” he said with disbelief.

“I did,” Dorian admitted. “Did you have a beautiful reunion?”

They had. They’d talked for two hours. Krem had told his dad about the army, the Chargers, the Inquisition, and Dorian. In return, his father had revealed that his time in slavery had been spent mostly in clerical duties for the magisters. It could have been worse. So much worse. And when the subject of Krem’s living as a man came up, his father, more understanding than Krem had ever dreamed of, had promised to call him Cremisius from now on, and refer to him as his son.

When they’d embraced, Krem had felt the unshed tears, prickling at the corners of his eyes.

“Yes, Chief,” he said. “But...”

“But...?”

“But what happens to him now? I mean, does he go back to being a slave?”

Dorian became thoughtful. “Well, the state owns him. But a magister could petition to have a _servus publicus_ freed. So my father might be able to free him.” Dorian paused, tapping fingers against his lips. “Then, perhaps we could give him some money. Or find him a job. Or both. Would that be better?” Dorian paused again, studying Krem closely. “Cremisius, your face is doing a strange thing. Is something wrong?”

Krem didn’t know what his face was doing, but he could feel his eyes prickling again. Blast it, he wasn’t going to cry in front of Dorian. Bodyguards didn’t _cry._

“I... I don’t know how I could ever repay you, Chief.”

“I seem to recall that you saved my life, Krem,” he reminded his guardsman. Then he smiled. “Although, if that’s not enough, there is a project you may be able help me with.” He hesitated, reconsidering what he’d been about to say. “Well, there are still some kinks to work out, though, so I’ll tell you about it later.”

***

After dinner, Dorian fulfilled his father’s request to speak to him in his office.

Speaking with his father in the office always gave their discussions a gravity they wouldn’t have had anywhere else.

Over dinner, they’d mostly talked politics. Dorian had glossed over the events of Vol Dorma, vaguely grateful that the news of the broken orb hadn’t reached his parents’ ears, at least. Instead, he spoke mostly of his activities in Minrathous. His mother, in particular, enjoyed the gossip. Then they had discussed Magister Tullius. His father was not convinced that Tullius was indeed behind the assassination attempt, but vowed to keep an eye on his ally more closely from now on.

They’d also talked about Krem’s father, so Dorian was somewhat surprised when his father mentioned it again.

“Dorian. I will help this Aclassi as you ask. But I think it only fair if you offer me a boon in return.”

Dorian’s nerves were immediately on edge. “A boon? What sort of boon would you request of me, Father?”

Halward, who stood by the window instead of sitting behind his desk, briefly looked out. He didn’t answer Dorian’s question. Instead, he murmured softly, “They are beautiful, aren’t they?”

Confused, Dorian cocked an eyebrow. “Father?”

“The stars over Tevinter.”

Dorian hesitated, then strode over to the other side of the open window to contemplate the night sky.

How many times had he stood on the ramparts of Skyhold, staring wistfully at the sky, freezing his ass off and just wishing?

Halward turned. “I still believe that you should take my place in the Magisterium someday. I believe in you, Dorian. I believe that you can change things. And I will give you my seat on two conditions: one, you will need an heir, and two, you will move home for good.”

Dorian was the picture of ambivalence. Hearing his father say that he _believed_ in him made him feel soft as wax... and yet the old anger was bubbling up again. “I’ve told you before, Father. I’m _not_ going to marry.”

Halward studied his son for a moment. _Stubborn, passionate, unwilling to back down._ “I didn’t say you’d have to marry,” he pointed out. “I just said that you’d need an heir.”

Surprise rooted Dorian to the spot. He finally managed a guttural, “What?”

“There is a suitable child you could adopt. The magic in her is strong, and both her parents are dead.”

Dorian remained shocked speechless for another moment. Then, when he opened his mouth to protest, his father held up a hand to silence him.

“Don’t say anything yet. Just promise that you will think on it.”

“I... wait. Her magic? How old is this child?”

“I believe she is seven.”

 _Seven years old_... even younger than Dorian when his own magic had manifested.

“I... I will think on it.”

***

Krem had eaten dinner with his father in the kitchens. Later, Fenris came to fetch him.

Not that Krem had any intention of refusing Dorian’s call, but Dorian knew that he’d planned on spending more time with his father. “Did he say what he wanted?”

Fenris shook his head.

“How’s his mood?”

Fenris thought for a moment. “Strange.”

“Strange?”

“He’s very quiet,” Fenris elaborated. “Serious. And not flirtatious.”

Yeah, that _was_ strange. Krem wished his father good night and allowed Fenris to lead him to the game room.

It was, unsurprisingly, even larger and more impressive than the one he and Fenris had used in Vol Dorma. At one end there was a full bar, bottles beckoning under the soft glow of strategically placed mage lights. Krem imagined the sort of riotous parties that the men-at-arms would throw in this room if they’d been allowed to do so.

Dorian sat at one of the tables. A deck of cards, a bottle of something, and three glasses sat before him. Dorian forced a smile. “I needed a distraction. I thought we could play a few hands of Diamondback.”

They sat down. As Dorian shuffled the cards, Krem filled their glasses from the bottle. From the aroma, it was a very fine bottle of brandy. “You sure you don’t want to talk about it, Chief?”

“Maybe later. Let’s just play a bit.”

Cards were dealt. Krem had to remind Dorian a few times about Free Marcher rules, but the enchanter quickly caught on, and soon stopped making mistakes.

Drinking, they played in silence for a while. Fenris sat across from Dorian. Every now and then he would look up. Dorian’s expression was serious, his eyes on the cards, long, graceful fingers rearranging them in his hand. Thinking about how those fingers had felt tracing over his skin, Fenris felt the heat rising to his face. Then his face burned hotter as he wondered if his master would do it again.

He quickly looked back down at his cards as Dorian glanced up.

“My father’s offered me his seat in the Magisterium,” he said quietly. “On two conditions.”

“Conditions, Chief?” Krem prompted.

Dorian recounted the conversation he’d had earlier with his father.

Krem slowly set down his cards, thinking. “Then you really would be a magister,” he said, the assumption that everyone down south had made.

His father was, by no means, an old man. Before, Dorian had imagined that he’d be in his forties, if not fifties, before he inherited that title. “Yes. And... much sooner than I would have expected.”

Krem slid a finger around the rim of his glass, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t mean to hurl brickbats at your efforts, Chief, but...”

Dorian’s mouth twitched up. “But you have a brickbat in your pocket? Whatever that may be?”

Cautiously, Krem remarked, “It seems to me that you aren’t really changing things from the outside.”

 _Ouch._ That stung. But that didn’t mean that Krem’s assessment was wrong. Once, while discussing his plans with the Inquisitor, he’d told Lavellan that if he were going to change things, he would have to lead the Magisterium from the inside.

It was a lot of responsibility. Becoming a magister wasn’t the problem, though. “But – fatherhood, Krem? I’m too young!”

Krem’s look was skeptical. “How old are you, Chief?”

“Thirty. Well, thirty-one next month.”

Krem’s look changed. Dorian could even hear the unspoken words: _Are you fucking kidding me, Chief?_

“All right. _Fine._ I’m not too young,” he huffed. “But I don’t know anything about raising children. Or how to be a... father.”

Krem’s eyes lit up with laughter. “Most people don’t, least until they have kids.”

“Maker’s balls, I never even _imagined_ having children. I didn’t think that was even an option. All things considered.”

Krem tilted his glass, the light catching the brandy in the bottom, giving it a soft, amber glow. “You said that this girl’s magic had already manifested. So, wouldn’t that mean she’d be off in the Circle most of the time, anyway?”

“True,” Dorian said. Except for holidays, the child would most likely be off at school. The Circle of Carastes, perhaps? After all, it was one of the better Circles that Dorian had been expelled from.“You know, I could blame Lavellan entirely for this. Making an example of himself. Inspiring everyone around him to do great things.”

Teasing Dorian about his feelings for the Inquisitor was one thing Krem would never do. “The Inquisitor’s a good man. He did what needed to be done.”

Dorian was quiet for a moment. Then he tilted his glass at Krem. “I think I’d much rather you pour me some more brandy and we stop talking about this for now.”

“Sure, Chief,” Krem said easily, and refilled everyone’s glass.

They played a while longer. But Dorian, still somewhat distracted, kept losing himself in his thoughts, Krem was thinking that he wasn’t quite drunk enough given the quality of alcohol in the Pavus house, and Fenris continued to sneak looks full of longing at Dorian from across the table.

Once they’d called it a night, the men rose from the table.

Dorian paused to swallow back the rest of his drink. Then realized that Fenris was lingering, hovering near his elbow. “Yes, Fenris?”

“Master? Did you want me to sleep in your bed?”

 _Maker no!_ That temptation was the last thing Dorian needed. That, and what would happen after, as soon as tongues started to wag... Staring down into his empty glass, he murmured, “No, Fenris. Go sleep in the slave quarters.”

Disappointment clouded the elf’s features. “Yes, Master,” he murmured before he slunk out of the room.

How Dorian didn’t notice, Krem couldn’t imagine. He found the situation – Dorian being too self-absorbed to notice that his feelings were finally being reciprocated – comical. He sniggered.

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Something amusing, Cremisius?”

Inside, Krem was laughing. He barely managed to keep a straight face. “If you haven’t figured it out, Chief, then I’m not going to be the one to tell you.”

Puzzled, Dorian cocked his head. “Cremisius...?”

“Good night, Chief. Oh, and there will most likely be a grand sword fight in the morning.”

 


	10. Alexandria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian makes a decision about his future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or: Dorian is a big, awkward dork.
> 
> Ok, I am wrapping up plot stuff in this chapter, so we can go back to the more important stuff, such as bromancing, romancing, and fixing Fenris' memories.
> 
> Big big thanks to everyone who has been following along and leaving lovely comments! You all cheer me up immensely.

There was indeed a grand sword fight in the morning.

There was even an audience. Other than Dorian, the audience was comprised mostly of his father’s men-at-arms who weren’t currently on guard duty, and a handful of slaves, including Krem’s father, as Krem and Fenris faced off in the open field behind the house.

With steel.

Once he’d obtained permission, Krem had led Fenris to the armory to pick out a sword for himself. The blade he’d chosen was a deadly-looking thing of silverite, so dark it was almost black, and seemed to absorb the light rather than reflecting it.

Krem gave the order, and the duel began.

It wasn’t so very different than the display they had put on for Dorian in Minrathous. On the offensive, Krem started out slow, then began increasing the speed of his attacks until the elf was defending himself against a furious storm of blows. Except that this time, instead of a wooden clack to accompany each parry, there was that distinctive metallic clang.

Once again, Dorian felt nostalgic for the days on the battlefield, with Cassandra and Bull clanging loudly away at the Inquisitor’s side.

As Dorian watched, his father stepped out onto the veranda and stood beside him.

Dorian noted that Fenris had a few new moves. However, he was still unable to turn it around. Eventually, Krem shot forward, nearly in the elf’s face, as his blade’s hilt hooked under Fenris’, With a practiced move, he tore Fenris’ sword free, sending it flying through the air. It landed several feet away, sticking point down in the ground, quivering.

As Krem backed down, the audience enthusiastically cheered.

Krem turned to the spectators. Gave a bow. Shot Fenris a glance. Fenris stared at him blankly for a moment, then he copied Krem’s move.

As the crowd dispersed, Krem ordered Fenris to pick up his sword again.

Dorian and his father stood side by side, quietly watching Krem and Fenris practice. It took Dorian a while to gather his nerve to speak. “I’ve thought on your proposal, Father,” he said.

Halward looked at him expectantly, waiting.

 _Well, no one said that making monumental, life-changing decisions was easy._ Dorian cleared his throat, as if he could just rattle the words out. “And... I’ve decided to... agree to it.”

A sound escaped Halward. Dorian was surprised to realize that his father had been holding his breath, and that sound was a sigh of relief.

Dorian cleared his throat again. “I suppose... the next step... would be to bring the child here?”

“Yes. We will send for her. She is currently at an uncle’s house in Carastes. I imagine she can be here in just a few day’s time.”

“Tell me more about her.”

Dorian’s father obliged. Dorian listened intently, at least until a particularly loud clang rang out, followed by Krem’s voice, raised in annoyance. “Elf! What have I told you about trying to take my damn head off?”

Dorian strained to hear Fenris’ answer.

“To try... harder?”

“Damn right. Now do it again.”

Despite himself, Dorian chuckled.

Both men watched the practice for a moment. Then Halward turned back to his son. “I had a conversation with Fenris yesterday.”

Dorian kept his expression as neutral as possible. “Oh?”

“He said you’ve been treating him well.”

Dorian wondered what other sorts of questions his father had asked Fenris during this _conversation,_ but decided he would give his father the benefit of the doubt this time. “To be honest, Father, while I was in Minrathous, I heard some stories about Danarius and his ‘pet.’”

Indeed, many people, upon recognizing Fenris, had been all too pleased to share the most shocking tales they could think of. And even the most mild of these tales had made Dorian want to scrub out his ears with dragon scales to get the obscene words out again.

“So by comparison,” Dorian nearly snarled, “it isn’t very difficult to treat him better than that beast of a man did.”

Dorian’s indignation burned fiercely. Halward thought over his conversation with Fenris. The slave had been quite candid, and several things had been made clear. Such as the fact that his son was seeking a way to restore the elf’s memories to him – the _use_ Dorian had intended from the start.

“I’m proud of you, Dorian,” he said. “I’m proud to have a son who turned into a good man.”

“I...” Dorian began, then trailed off, suddenly awkward. His father had said something similar in Redcliff. They hadn’t really meant much to him then. So, why did they feel meaningful now?

_His face in the stands, watching as I pass the test. So proud there's tears in his eyes. Anything to make him happy, anything._

Cole echoing in his head again. Why in the Void couldn’t Dorian lock that annoying spirit out?

Halward pretended that he didn’t notice his son’s discomposure. “I have to say. I’m surprised at how much Fenris has come out of his shell. He was much worse when we first acquired him, but even after six months, he was still reserved. Couldn’t stand to be touched. Resisted all attempts of the other elves to make friends. Only Iona was eventually able to get him to string more than two words at a time together.”

Dorian’s eyes drifted back to Fenris. “Oh. That’s mostly Krem’s doing,” he admitted. Then he smiled. “See how nicely my boys play together, Father?”

Halward watched Fenris for a moment. “He’s very fond of you.”

“Slaves usually do get attached to their masters. Plus, he should be, given how much I’ve spoiled him.”

“You know... it’s a shame.”

“What is?”

Halward pondered over what he wanted to say. “I understand that you cannot change your... preferences. But if you want to be respected in the Magisterium... then you will have to be discreet in your affairs.”

Dorian was already aware of that. But he didn’t feel like agreeing with his father. “And where’s the shame in that?” he snapped.

“No, you misunderstand. It’s a shame that I taught you not to take advantage of our slaves. Free men talk. A slave would keep quiet. It would be an ideal way to remain discreet while fulfilling your... needs.”

 _Did he really just say that?_ “Father, are you suggesting...? No, you can’t be suggesting _that._ And with Fenris? Father, he’s been terribly _abused._ As you pointed out, he was practically broken when you bought him. It would be... reprehensible.”

Halward sighed. “It wouldn’t have to be Fenris. Some other slave. Or... slaves.”

If only Dorian were twenty years younger – then he could stick his fingers in his ears and start singsonging: _Tra la la la la not listening._ He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a conversation this mortifying – well, other than the one in which the Inquisitor kicked him out of Skyhold. “Father, _please._ Can we please stop talking about my... _needs_?”

Halward sighed again. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

***

As the carriage pulled up to the front door, Dorian told himself that his palms were sweating because of the heat.

From the window on the second floor, he could see the driveway clearly. “That must be the girl.”

Fenris peered down. Watched, along with Dorian, as the driver jumped down, moving to open the door of the carriage.

An elven woman, wearing a modest black dress stepped out first. That, Dorian knew, would be the governess. Her name was Faviola, and she’d been taking care of the child since she was an infant, so at least she’d have a familiar face. Then the child herself stepped out.

Dorian caught a glimpse of dark hair. A velvet cape of dark blue over darker skirts. And, although Dorian had never spent much time with children, this one seemed... small.

Fenris was also studying the girl with interest. “What’s her name?”

“Oh, it’s... Alexandria of House Florus. Well, previously of House Florus, I suppose.”

It was one of the things his father had told him on the veranda. Another being that her parents, both magisters, had been ambushed and murdered in cold blood. Furthermore, the killers had left their bodies in a gruesome display on the marble floor of their bedroom as some sort of twisted message against those who were a little too vocal against the use of blood magic in Tevinter. As such, they had been allies of House Pavus. And, given the fact that the rest of the family lacked their level of magical skill, no uncle, aunt or well-meaning cousin had fought against the adoption. As Dorian’s heir, she would be guaranteed a better life and an eventual seat in the Magisterium.

Once again, there had been rumors that the assassins had been somehow connected to the Venatori.

Fenris cocked his head, just before the girl and her governess disappeared from sight. “She has the same color hair and skin as you.”

Dorian supposed that was good.

“Well,” Dorian said reluctantly. “I suppose we ought to go down and meet them before my father sends Dasio to look for us.”

Fenris followed Dorian down to the foyer, where his parents had already greeted the arrivals. As Dorian descended the stairs, Halward turned. “And this is the man who shall be adopting you. My son, Dorian Pavus.”

Large, dark eyes met Dorian’s.

Dorian reached the bottom of the stairs. For a man reputed to have a silver tongue, he was at an uncomfortable lack for words. Maker, he hadn’t felt this awkward since... well, since he’d had his first crush on a young man named Rilienus.

He tried smiling at the child. _Alexandria. My heir._ Maker, he didn’t know how one was supposed to talk to children, but he knew he had to say _something._ “Welcome to House Pavus. I assume that you had an uneventful trip from Carastes?”

The girl gave a little curtsey. “We had no trouble on the road. But it took a long time.”

Dorian realized that this was just as awkward for the child as it was for him. “Well, in that case, I’ll have Fenris show you and Faviola to your rooms so you may rest. We will speak again at dinner.”

The girl nodded.

Fenris stepped forward. “Follow me.”

***

Fenris led Alexandria and Faviola to a set of adjoining rooms at the western end of the house. Once he’d shown the elf woman her room, he brought the girl next door. Some of the other slaves had already unloaded and brought up the child’s belongings. As the girl examined her room, Fenris began to unpack.

As he was contemplating where to put the various toys and books he’d unearthed from a trunk, he noticed the girl studying him. “Yes, Young Mistress?” he asked, using the term the Dorian had instructed him to use. Which Dorian had obviously enjoyed, as it meant that _Dorian_ was no longer the target of the male version of that title.

Dark eyes scrutinized him. “What are you?”

That seemed a silly question to him. “I’m a slave. I belong to Master Dorian.”

Alexandria rolled her eyes. “I know you’re a slave.”

Somewhat baffled, Fenris frowned a bit. “If you knew that, then... why did you ask?”

She gestured at Fenris’ hands, then his neck. “I meant those markings all over you. What are _those?”_

“They are lyrium. Branded into my skin.”

She chewed on her lip, looking very thoughtful. “Did they hurt?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember? How come?”

“They were put there when I was younger. But,” he said, remembering Varric’s letter, “apparently when I got them, it hurt so much that I lost my memories then. The first time. Then, later, my old master used blood magic to seal all my new memories away.”

“Your master used blood magic?” she asked, fretting. Then she scowled. “He must have been a bad man.”

“Yes. He was.”

The girl considered that. “Does the lyrium do anything?”

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

“Different things.”

“Can you show me?”

Fenris hesitated. Whenever he used the markings, they would hurt – a sort of thin sharp razor pain all over his skin. Since Danarius had died, he was grateful that no one – except Master Halward on only a few occasions for his experiments – had asked him to use them.

The girl put her hands on her hips, jutting out her bottom lip, and gave Fenris a cross look. “Dorian is going to adopt me, so I’ll be a Pavus, too. Which means you’ll have to do what I say. So – show me, slave.”

That much was true. “Yes, Young Mistress.”

Pain knifed through the lyrium veins as Fenris let them flare to life. Yet, along with the pain, there was also an almost intoxicating sort of pleasure as the raw power of Fade energy filled him. For a moment, he remained still, his markings glowing with bright blue light, visible even through his dark clothing.

Then he let himself completely phase out of this world. He was both here, and at the edge of the Fade, and in neither place at once. Incorporeal, he then moved, walking up to the child, and then  _through_ her. 

Once safely out the other side, he let the lyrium become dormant again.

Alexandria had shivered as she felt Fenris pass through her, the traces of lyrium tugging at her insides and surging through her blood. Spinning around, her eyes were wide before she broke into a wide, unreserved grin. “Wow! You’re so  _cool!”_ she cried. “Can you do it again?”

***

Before the library door, Dorian stopped to grind both palms against his eyes.

He was thinking that he should really write Varian a letter soon. Once the child had legally been made Dorian’s heir, it had been decided that Dorian would return to Minrathous for a while in order to complete his studies and become a fully ranked senior enchanter. Without that title, he wouldn’t easily be respected as a magister. Staying in Qarinus wasn’t a possibility – despite his father’s impressive library, there were numerous other tomes he’d need to study, all of which were housed in Minrathous’ Circle. This time, though, Dorian had decided that they would just rent some rooms in Varian’s building. The location couldn’t be beat, and Dorian decided he could live for a year or two without any luxury.

He also still needed to arrange for the girl to be accepted into a Circle.

Things between Dorian and his heir hadn’t really become any less awkward. Dorian always felt like the child was watching him to see exactly what he would do next. Of course, the problem was, he didn’t know what to do.

Strangely, though, Alex – which, according to his governess, was what the girl preferred to be called – had asked him if she could play with Fenris. Dorian, seeing no reason to say otherwise, said yes, as long as they played nice.

Then there was the matter of his name-day party. His mother had been quite adamant about throwing him one, and wanted to consult him on everything from the refreshments to the guest list.

He’d been hoping for some quiet time in the library, but when he opened the door, he found Krem and Fenris curled up in two of the chairs, a very familiar book in Krem’s hand. As soon as Dorian entered, Krem who had been reading out loud, fell silent.

“What, exactly, are you doing?” Dorian asked.

Krem calmly stated the obvious. “Reading to Fenris, Chief.”

Dorian sputtered his next question. “That?”

Krem turned Varric’s book over, as if to examine the garishly-colored cover. “It’s his past, ain’t it? Doesn’t he have a right to know?”

Dorian heaved an exasperated sigh. “You’re probably just going to confuse him.”

Krem tilted his head so that he could fix Dorian with a calculating stare. “How come you always talk about him like he’s not here?”

“Because...” Dorian began, but then trailed off.

Krem filled in. “Maybe you think that, because he’s just a slave, he doesn’t have any opinions in his head?”

No, that wasn’t what Dorian thought. What he did think was that he _needed_ Fenris to be an empty-headed object, not a flesh-and-blood sexy ass elf with feelings and desires and dreams. It was just easier if Fenris were the non-person who was available to harmlessly flirt with and take care of his basic, non-sexual needs of tea and clean small clothes.

That look Krem was giving him, though, made him feel strangely guilty. “Fine,” Dorian muttered. He made a grand gesture of turning to look at the elf, and spoke conversationally. “So, Fenris, what are your thoughts on this book?”

Fenris absentmindedly scratched one of his ears. “I think it’s a gripping story, but it doesn’t feel like it really happened to me.”

One of Varric’s novels _gripping?_ _Ha!_ Clearly his elf’s taste in literature was far from refined. Dorian threw himself down in the empty chair. “Well, in that case, Cremisius, keep reading.”

 

_The following night, someone rang the bell at the front door of the Hawke mansion. When it rang again, Hawke trudged to answer it, wondering where Bodahn had gotten himself off to. And what was the purpose of having servants if they weren’t available to answer the gods damned door?_

_Once in the foyer, however, he was astonished to see the Tevinter ex-slave sitting on the bench nearest the door._

_He hadn’t seen Fenris since the time Fenris had stormed off, angry with Hawke despite the fact that Hawke had just helped him kill Hadriana. So he spoke with some surprise. “Fenris?”_

_Fenris heaved himself off the bench, moving quickly towards Hawke, his eyes lowered, and already speaking in a low, husky tone. “I have been thinking of you.” Stopping just inches away from Hawke, he lifted his eyes to hungrily meet the other man’s. “In fact, I’ve been able to think of little else. Command me to go and I shall.”_

_Hawke’s amber eyes burned relentlessly into green. His words, pitched low, came out harsh. “Shut up.”_

_Fenris stepped forward, already reaching to seize Hawke’s arm just as Hawke’s other arm slithered around Fenris’ neck, as Fenris’ mouth found his._

_Lips crushed together, the elf poured all of his need into the kisses he gave the Champion._

_Then the Champion drew back, grabbing Fenris by the arms and pushing him up against the wall. Pinning the elf there with his weight, Hawke’s mouth sought his again in a frenzy of kisses._

_As Hawke kissed him, Fenris’ hands slid down Hawke’s back until he reached –_

 

Dorian interrupted with a protest. “Krem! Are you seriously reading him smut?”

_Fucking Varric!_

Krem scanned his current page, then flipped it over. “It ain’t that explicit. It kind of fades to black before they reach the bedroom.” Krem grinned. “I don’t suppose you read the bedroom scene with the lusty pirate wench, though? Now that one was pretty hot, Chief. Involved daggers flying everywhere.”

Dorian hadn’t actually read that far. Though, now, he was rather glad that he hadn’t. Pushing himself off the chair, he headed to the door. “I think that’s enough story time for me. I’m going to bed.”

Once alone in his room, lying in bed with the sheet draped across his hips, all he could think about was what it would feel like to pin Fenris against a wall and cover his mouth with a frenzy of kisses.

As his hand snaked down under the sheet, he thought, _Varric Tethras – I hate you._

 


	11. Smutty Literature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian casts an illusion. And Fenris is curious... about romance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we have a full-fledged Dorian/Krem bromance now. Basically, everyone in this chapter is oozing feelings. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Anyway, things in Qarinus are wrapped up in this chapter. Next up: the two-part finale!

Krem finished reading _Tale of the Champion_ to Fenris two weeks later.

As Halward Pavus’ library was seriously lacking in pulp fiction, and Krem hadn’t unearthed anything that interested Fenris in Dorian’s private collection, Krem asked the mage permission one afternoon to go to to the bookseller’s. Thrilled by the idea, Dorian joined them, bringing Alexandria along.

To Dorian’s delight, the child was an avid reader. Dorian let her select a number of age-appropriate books.

To Dorian’s dismay, the book that Krem had helped Fenris pick out was a translation of the first book in Varric’s _Swords and Shields_ series. “Krem. You realize this book was written for women.”

Krem just jerked a thumb at Fenris. _“He_ picked it out.”

Dorian sighed inwardly. He would have much preferred berating Krem about it than having a heartfelt discussion with his slave. “Fenris? Is there any particular reason you chose this book?”

Guilt crept over the elf’s expression. “Is there... something wrong with it, Master?”

“No, there’s nothing wrong with it,” Dorian said quickly, adding in his mind, _other than it being badly-written smutty literature for women._ “I was merely curious.”

Fenris perked up. “Oh. Well, I liked Tethras’ other book, and...”

“And?”

The elf’s eyes shied away from his. “...and I was curious. About...”

“About?”

“...romance.”

Dorian laughed. “I’m not sure that _Swords and Shields_ is the best source for _that.”_

Krem’s eyes sparkled at him. “As if you were an expert on romance, Chief.”

Dorian had lost track of how many men he’d slept with a long time ago. “You mean the candy-and-flowers kind?” he asked. When Krem nodded, he replied, “Well, no. I suppose I’m not.”

_But I would have showered the Inquisitor with candy or flowers or whatever else his elven heart desired._

A week later, Krem and Dorian sat on the veranda drinking cold tea. Fenris wasn’t with them – instead he was playing with Alex in the open field beyond. Dorian smiled indulgently as a peal of childish laughter pierced the air.

Dorian’s eyes lingered on Fenris. Krem still trained him hard every day, and even made him join the drills with the men-at-arms, so he wasn’t willowy anymore. He would never be strapping, but every part of him was defined by hard muscle. And the style of clothes he wore – plain but tight – did little to conceal his new physique.

The last time Dorian had seen Fenris without his shirt on – a few days ago at sword practice with Krem – the sight of all those rippling muscles was enough to cause some uncomfortable twinging in his pants.

Krem watched Dorian leering at Fenris again. For an intelligent man, he was terribly oblivious. As far as Krem could tell, Dorian still hadn’t noticed that the elf had the hots for him. Or he was very good at pretending not to notice.

Finally Dorian swung his gaze Krem’s way. “So!” he announced. “The adoption should be official in another week. To be followed shortly after by my name-day party. Should we survive the pomp and ceremony, and once Alex is safely in the Circle, it’s back to Minrathous so I can play student again.” He smiled. “By the way, Varian has secured us some quarters in his building, so I’m afraid you’ll be sleeping in your own private room this time.”

“You’re spoiling me, Chief. I don’t think I’ve had my own private room since I left my parents’ house.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you have no hot water and only one pillow.”

“And Fenris?”

“I hadn’t decided yet. Though – really, Cremisius, it would be better if he just shared a room with you. It’s rather obvious that he’s not interested in any... feminine charms you may be hiding under your armor.”

Krem would have been willing to concede that point, except that he was having too much fun watching them – Fenris still trying to figure out his feelings, and Dorian trying to resist his own. “You just promised me a private room, Chief. Too late to toss an elf in it.”

Dorian sighed. “True.”

Krem drank the last of his tea as Dorian’s attention once again turned to Fenris playing with the girl. Most days, Alex dragged Fenris off somewhere in the mansion, but when Krem had asked Fenris about it, the elf said he’d been ordered not to tell. Questioning the other slaves, Krem ascertained that Alex’s games – ranging from knucklebones and tea parties, to playing dress-up with some old clothes in the attic and even pretend swordplay – were harmless. Though it had delighted Dorian to no end to learn that his precocious heir was teaching Fenris how to play chess.

Dorian stood, stretched, then shouted to Alex. Fenris jogged up behind her, both slightly out of breath.

“Cremisius, please take Alexandria inside to wash up for dinner,” Dorian said. “I need to speak to Fenris alone for a moment.”

Dorian rarely spoke to him alone. Uncertain, Fenris’ eyes darted about until Krem and the child had disappeared into the house and Dorian spoke.

“Fenris?”

“Yes, Master?”

“What were you and Alex doing?”

“She... said it was called Dead Man.”

Dorian remembered that game from his own childhood days: _Dead Man, come alive. Come alive at the count of five._ At that memory, a hint of a smile curved Dorian’s lips. “Do you enjoy playing with her?”

Speaking with Dorian alone was difficult. His heart had skipped a beat when Dorian smiled, and words kept sticking in his throat. “It is not... unpleasant.”

That hint of a smile continued to linger. “Have you spent a lot of time with children?”

“I... no. Danarius had no heirs.”

Dorian tilted his head curiously. “She isn’t being too bossy with you, is she?”

Perhaps it was due to nervousness, but he blurted out, thoughtlessly, “No more bossy than you.” Realizing what he’d just said, Fenris ducked his head, adding a hasty, “Master.”

Dorian laughed softly. Still, he was thinking that he should probably have a talk with Alex about how to properly treat slaves.

As for the slave... he was hiding again. _Does he still really believe that I’m going to punish him? For something so trivial?_ After all, Dorian hadn’t even punished him for breaking the orb that had nearly killed him.

Gentle fingertips lifted Fenris’ chin. “You really need to stop averting those pretty eyes of yours.”

Dorian was smiling at him. Teasing him again. _Flirting_ with him. Andraste’s ashes, he was so... handsome. Gilded by sunlight. Gray eyes almost silver.

Fenris felt his heart skip another beat. Felt the brush of Dorian’s fingers against his jaw. Saw the hunger in the silvery eyes. _The Fenris in the book would just kiss him._

But he hesitated. He wasn’t _that Fenris_ anymore. He was merely a slave.

Still smiling, Dorian stepped back, withdrawing his hand. “Bossy, am I?” he drawled. “In that case, clean up these tea things and tell Krem to meet us in the game room after dinner.”

***

One afternoon, Krem entered the library. “You wanted to see me, Chief?”

Dorian sat in one of the armchairs, a sheet of parchment in his lap. “Sit down, Cremisius, and have a look at this.”

Krem sat and accepted the sheet. Dorian’s neat and elegant script in black ink covered most of it, interspersed with esoteric diagrams and symbols in reds and blues. Krem was able to understand most of the individual words, but couldn’t make sense of the document as a whole. “What is it?”

“This,” Dorian said carefully, “is the exact spell requirements that would allow me to transform you – physically – into a man.”

 _This again._ “Chief –”

“Please. Just hear me out.”

Once again, Krem reminded himself that Dorian was just trying to be helpful. “Go ahead.”

“I get how the idea of being altered by magic might make you nervous. Believe _me,_ I get it. But let me assure you, Cremisius, I _do_ know what I’m doing. I’ve researched this meticulously for weeks. And I’ve left nothing to chance. I would never take any risk, no matter how slight, if there were the possibility I might hurt you. You... you do trust me, don’t you, Krem?”

The way Dorian was looking at him – so expectant, so open, so hopeful – Krem could only give him the plain and simple truth. “Dorian. Of course I trust you.”

Dorian brightened. “I... I’m glad.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I’ve prepared the spell for you, and I can cast it at any time.” He paused, gaze seeking. “If this is what _you_ want.”

Outside of Tevinter, running with Bull and the Chargers, Krem had been fine with his body. Being home again... well, it wasn’t as if Krem had regressed to the point of hating himself when he looked in the mirror, but he was always nervous here. If he ever did get caught, one quick examination by a healer would seal his fate. Dorian’s spell, on the other hand, might help keep him safe.

They hadn’t spoken about how long Krem would serve as Dorian’s bodyguard. In the beginning, Krem had assumed that Dorian would keep him on for a few weeks until he could hire a new ’Vint bodyguard – assuming he even needed one in Minrathous. And yet, four months later, Krem was still at Dorian’s side. And not only that, Krem didn’t want to leave – he wanted to stay, just to see what great things Dorian Pavus would do.

Dorian, respectfully silent, watched Krem waffle. Finally he said, “If I may cast a spell that might help? Illusion only, so no magic would actually touch your body. Think of it like putting on a mask, only the mask is magic.”

Krem frowned.

Dorian raised an eyebrow, his tone haughty. “Cremisius, your father is now a free man. Don’t you owe me?”

“Emotional blackmail isn’t nice, Chief.”

“I _told_ you I needed help with a project.”

Krem sighed. “Fine. If anything gets weird, though, I’m making you the elf’s training dummy.”

Dorian lifted a hand, swirling it languidly through the air. “Understood.”

“Well, get it over w–” Krem began, but then abruptly stopped.

That wasn’t his voice.

Well, it was his voice, only a little bit rougher, richer, deeper.

“Chief?”

Dorian was smiling smugly as he admired his handiwork. “The illusion will last about twenty minutes.”

 _That strange little hand gesture._ Speaking of hands, Krem stared down at his own. They were slightly larger, less delicate, the fingertips squared. Strong hands, worthy of a warrior.

“There _is_ a full-length mirror in my bedroom.”

“Of course there is,” Krem said. “How else would you get enough preening time in?”

Dorian chuckled to himself as Krem made a hasty departure, out of the library, down the hall, and up the stairs to Dorian’s bedroom.

He’d been in Dorian’s room before, when he and Fenris had searched through his book collection. As he entered, his eyes went straight to the mirror.

He knew that the illusion was entirely of Dorian’s crafting.

_Is this how Dorian saw him?_

Closing the door, Krem stealthily approached the mirror. Dorian hadn’t made him any taller – just as well, because Krem was tall enough – so his reflection’s eyes were level with his own.

It was still his face – same mouth, same eyes, same jag in his nose from where it had been broken and badly set. But the planes were different – sharper, harder – and his jawline was now sharp enough to cut glass. For whatever reason – aesthetic, perhaps – Dorian had given him slightly longer hair, down over his brow and tickling the back of his neck. Turning his head this way and that, Krem realized that he was a beautiful man.

_Is this how Dorian wanted to see him?_

Krem’s eyes traveled down. In his loose clothing, his body, not counting the broader shoulders, didn’t look so different. Krem hesitated for a moment, then pulled his shirt off.

His real body was strong, defined by many muscles – something he was proud of, as he’d worked so hard to obtain them. On this body, his muscles not only rippled, they _bulged._

_Is this how Dorian would remake him?_

The binder looked strange on such a staunchly male chest. Krem removed it.

He stared at his chest – flat, but for a fine pair of pecs, and smooth. It was so bizarre that he actually reached up to grope himself, relieved that he could still feel his breasts, even if he couldn’t see them.

He hesitated for a longer moment before he reached for the laces on his pants.

Down in the library, Dorian carefully folded up the page with Krem’s spell on it, tucking it away in a pocket. He thought for a moment, then got up to ring the bell.

A few minutes later, Dorian was seated in his chair again, a book open in his lap, when Fenris entered. _Good. Just the elf I wanted._

Casually, and scarcely looking up from the book, Dorian said, “Fenris? It’s terribly hot. Go fetch my fan. I believe I left it on the bedside table in my bedroom.”

“Yes, Master,” Fenris replied automatically before he ducked out of the room.

Dorian sat, grinning to himself, until he heard the soft shuffle of footsteps approaching. Composing his expression, he looked up as Fenris entered the room, Dorian’s paper fan in hand.

He moved quickly, his eyes down, his face fiercely red as he thrust the fan in Dorian’s direction.

Oh, what he would have given to be able to pluck the vision Fenris had seen right out of the elf’s head.

Dorian, concealing his amusement, accepted the fan. _Well, I think that is definite proof of Fenris’ preferences._ “Thank you, Fenris. You may go.”

Fenris dashed out of the room.

Dorian waited until he was certain that the elf was out of earshot, then he laughed.

About fifteen minutes passed, and then Krem, the illusion broken, dressed and bound, reappeared and sank down in the armchair to Dorian’s left. Dorian pretended to be intensely interested in the book on his lap.

After several minutes had passed, Krem grunted. “You know something, Chief?” he muttered. “You’re an ass.”

***

Fenris spent most of the party in a corner of the Pavus’ ballroom, watching everyone wish Dorian a happy name-day, and congratulate him on officially gaining an heir.

Towards the end of the party, Krem, once he’d decided it was safe enough for Dorian to mingle without being attached to him by the elbow, came to keep Fenris company.

Leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed, Krem shot Fenris a sidelong glance. “Do slaves celebrate name-days?” he asked. Then amended, “I don’t mean you, of course. I know you don’t remember. I mean in general.”

At Danarius’, things had been far more subdued, but at the Pavus house, the slaves would celebrate all sorts of things from holidays to name-days. And, although he hadn’t seen one, a marriage was the cause for the largest celebration of them all – the last occasion being several years ago, and Master Halward had given all the slaves the day off to celebrate. “Sometimes.”

“Oh, yeah? And what do you do?”

“It depends,” Fenris said. “There’s usually drinking – slaves ferment their own drink. It’s not very good, but it is... effective. And sometimes there’s music and dancing.”

Krem briefly contemplated an elven party. It would probably be more fun than this, at any rate. And fewer guests wearing dark robes, hoods, headpieces, light armor or some combination thereof. “You didn’t have to be here,” Krem said. “There were plenty of other slaves around to fetch Dorian a drink.” Krem then grinned and jabbed the elf with his elbow. “Of course, you probably had nothing better to do than gawk at Dorian. ‘Specially since he looks so pretty all dolled up in his sashes and those leather straps.”

A blush colored the elf’s cheeks as he evaded Krem’s gaze. “Yes... he does.”

An admission. That was a first. Krem suddenly had an epiphany: the elf didn’t just have the hots for Dorian – he had _feelings._ Krem grabbed him by the arm. “Come on.”

A moment later, they were out of the ballroom, on a different veranda than the usual one where they took their afternoon tea. After a quick glance to ascertain that they were indeed alone, Krem spoke again. “Maker, you _like_ him.”

Fenris blinked at him.

Krem had been reading _Swords and Shields_ to Fenris, and they’d reached the point in which the romance was just beginning to blossom. “You like him the way the guardsman likes the Templar Knight-Captain in Tehras’ book.”

Fenris blushed harder. “I... he... it’s not like that.”

Krem was convinced that it was very much like that. “You liar. You need to tell him how you feel.”

The idea of confessing his feelings to his master terrified him. “I... can’t.”

“If you can’t tell him... then show him.” When Fenris looked at him questioningly, Krem clarified. “Kiss him.”

“If I... then he’d... that’s not...”

Krem’s hands fell upon his shoulders. Fenris immediately stopped stuttering as Krem fixed him in a serious-as-a-dagger-to-the-throat kind of stare.

“Trust me,” Krem said. “He’d like it if you kissed him.”

Before Fenris could even articulate a response, the subject of their conversation stepped out onto the veranda. “Ah, there you both are. The last of the guests has just left. And I think I’ve had too much to drink.” Dorian considered, then frowned. “Or maybe not enough, given the company I’ve just had to keep. At any rate, I’m off to bed and wanted to wish you a good night.”

Krem smiled. “You’d better take the elf with you, Chief. You’re probably too drunk to get out of that fancy outfit by yourself.”

And he gave Fenris a shove in Dorian’s direction.

Fenris whipped his head around to glare at Krem.

Dorian glanced down at himself, briefly considering all the straps and buckles. Then he smiled wryly at Krem. “Actually... that’s a good point, Cremisius. Come along, Fenris.”

***

Fenris trailed behind Dorian as he stumbled his way back to his bedroom.

Dorian was mostly thinking that he was glad that the party was over. He’d spent much of the evening smiling at his mother’s friends and engaging in small talk. Most of that talk had revolved around Alex. Alex did seem to be a decent, well-behaved child, but it was still somewhat strange and startling to Dorian to think about how the girl was now, officially, Dorian’s heir. His daughter.

Once in his room, Dorian lit one the lamps with a curl of fire he manifested at the end of his finger. Then he tossed himself down on the edge of the bed, holding out an arm. “Fenris, do help me out of these impossible clothes.”

Fenris approached, then began the process of unbuckling Dorian out of his formal wear.

Dorian watched Fenris’ long, elegant fingers unwinding sashes and working at the straps. He was so focused on the task, that Dorian was free to drink up the pretty elf with his eyes. Finally, the task completed, he lifted his gaze to Dorian’s a moment after Dorian had shrugged off the heavy outer garment.

 _Maker, he has such beautiful eyes,_ Dorian thought. Carelessly, he lifted a hand, letting it settle along Fenris’ jaw, his thumb gently following the contours of Fenris’ bottom lip.

He was aware of the little voice in the back of his mind, the one telling him to stop touching Fenris and send him out of his bedroom _now_ before he did something terrible.

“Ah, Fenris,” he murmured, a hint of wistfulness in his voice, as he let his hand drop. “If only...”

 _Kiss him._ In Fenris’ head, Krem’s words hadn’t stopped echoing. _He’d like it if you kissed him._

Fenris had never kissed anyone before... that he could remember. He’d _been_ kissed, though not by Danarius. The last man who had kissed him had wound his fingers in Fenris’ hair, pulled him closer, and then thrust his tongue in. He knew he didn’t want to kiss Dorian like that. Rather, he wondered what it would be like to kiss someone they way Tethras described it in _Swords and Shields_.

Dorian was sitting on the bed, and Fenris was standing between his knees. Lifting his hands to Dorian’s face, Fenris bent down and pressed his lips softly against his master’s in a slow, tentative kiss.

He drew back for a second, then did it again.

Surprise froze Dorian in place. Oh, the wine addling his brain was doing nothing to help. It took him a moment to realize that Fenris was kissing him.

That... was entirely unexpected.

He was thinking that he shouldn’t be letting his slave do this, but, even as he thought it, his mouth – _that treacherous thing!_ – was already moving over Fenris’, kissing him back.

Kissing Fenris was lovely. He tasted so good. Like... sunshine. If sunshine had a taste.

Maker, he was a terrible man. More than anything, Dorian just wanted to pull this elf into the bed with him. It was his name-day, after all – didn’t he deserve something special?

It took every scrap of his willpower to pull back, and put some distance between them. “Fenris?”

Fenris straightened. “Yes, Master?”

This sort of temptation would not _do._ Dorian spoke bluntly, his voice hard-edged from too much alcohol. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

His eyes widened. “I...”

Dorian didn’t even give him time to complete his response. “Because that’s what’s going to happen if you don’t get out of my bedroom _right_ _now._ ”

For a moment Fenris just stared at him. Then he turned, practically scrambling out of the room.

Dorian stared at the empty doorway for a moment, then flopped back on his bed with an aggravated sigh.

_Blast it. That.. could have gone better._

_***_

Fortunately, Dorian had a special blend of herbs to cure a hangover, so he didn’t feel too bad the following day. Not that he felt too good about the way he’d driven Fenris out of his bedroom. 

Fenris didn’t appear for their morning ritual of coffee with Krem. According to Mira, the slave who did deliver the coffee to the veranda, Fenris wasn’t feeling well. A stomachache.

Later, however, while playing chess in the game room with Alex, Fenris appeared. He didn’t quite meet Dorian’s eyes as he handed him a letter.

And not just any letter.

The long-awaited-for letter from Varric Tethras.

“Dorian, can I go play with Fenris?” Alex asked.

“Fenris, wait here,” Dorian said before the elf could slip away. He smiled at Alex. “And what about our game?”

At least the child had the decency to look a little guilty about preferring to play with Fenris, rather than him. “We could finish it later...?”

“Yes. Well, first let me see what this letter says.”

Almost greedily, Dorian tore open Varric’s letter.

It was surprisingly short, and to the point. It had clearly been written in a hurry and ended with a request to meet. Dorian paused to calculate the travel time. _Shit._ “Fenris – go fetch Krem.”

A few minutes later, Fenris reappeared, this time with the ex-soldier.

“Yeah, Chief?”

“Well, Cremisius. Varric thinks he may have a way to help restore Fenris’ memories, but we will have to meet him.” He waved the letter in the air. “Which means that the three of us will be leaving for Nessum. Tomorrow.”

Krem frowned. “Nessum? On the border? That’s near Trevis.”

It took Dorian a moment to remember that Trevis was where Krem had been stationed when his secret got out. “We’ll tiptoe past it,” he said. “Unless you’d rather we use the spell...?”

Krem’s lips tightened. “Tiptoeing is fine.”

Alex turned to Fenris. “You’re leaving?” she asked, voice filled with dismay. “You will come back, won’t you?”

Fenris looked at Alex, then at Dorian.

“Don’t worry.” From across the table, Dorian smiled at her. “Of course Fenris will come back.”

 


	12. A Bigger Hammer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Nessum, Dorian, Krem and Fenris have a reunion with Varric Tethras and some other old friends. And Fenris finally regains his lost memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Come on, Krem de la Krem. You can’t believe half the crap that dwarf writes. That’s what writers do – make shit up.”
> 
> Not only do we have a reunion (that part's supposed to be funny) and Fenris finally regaining his memories (that part's supposed to be dramatic), but some of you lovelies have been wondering "Hey, when is Dorian going to stop being an oblivious dork and get it on with the elf?"
> 
> Right now.

After a long journey across Tevinter, they arrived to find a familiar face waiting for them at the Black Stone tavern in Nessum. Only it wasn’t the dwarf they’d been expecting.

It was a one-eyed Qunari.

The Iron Bull grinned at them. “Bout time you ‘Vints showed up. I’ve been sitting here drinking alone, and all these other ‘Vints keep staring at my horns. Probably trying to think up ways to kill me.”

“I wonder why,” Dorian drawled as they all joined him at the large table. “Oh. Maybe because you’re a Qunari and we’re at war with your people.”

“They ain’t my people anymore, Dorian. Remember? Left all that _Ben-Hassrath_ business behind. Now I’m the Inquisitor’s man.”

Dorian just barely managed to refrain from asking about the Inquisitor. “Yes, but you do still have the horns.”

“True.” Iron Bull’s gaze slid over to Krem. “Hey there, Krem brulee. I still can’t get over how quickly you left me to run off with Super Flash here. Even if he is kinda pretty for a ‘Vint.”

“I’m more than ‘kind of’ pretty,” Dorian protested. “My prettiness is legendary.”

Krem snickered. “It was your idea, Chief.”

Dorian felt a strange little twinge of envy at hearing Krem call Bull that. And at the way they regarded each other with such warmth. “Yes, yes. It’s lovely to see you and all that, but we’re not here to see _you._ Where’s Varric?”

“He’s out with the crew. They got tired of sitting around, waiting, so they went to take a walk around. ‘Spect they’ll be back soon.”

Krem raised an eyebrow. “The crew? You mean the Chargers are here?”

“Nah. I mean Varric’s old crew. Some of the ones he ran around with in Kirkwall.”

Krem and Fenris exchanged a glance.

Bull’s gaze swept over Fenris. “Speaking of which, this must be the elf that glows. I bet you come in handy in dark caves.”

Everyone looked at Fenris.

“I... suppose?” he ventured.

“Varric’s told me a bit about you. Says you can destroy a man so completely in three seconds that it would take a mop to clean him up off the floor,” Bull said. Then he grinned. “ _Nice._ I’d like to see that.”

Dorian was slightly dismayed that he and Bull had this desire in common. “So! Varric’s letter left out any details of why we’re here. I don’t suppose you have any idea?”

“Oh, yeah. He mentioned that. Familiar faces.”

“Familiar faces?”

“Said once that the elf’s sister showed up in Kirkwall. Jogged some childhood memories loose. He figured it was a long shot, but maybe seeing old friends would do the same thing.”

Krem and Fenris exchanged another glance. “That wasn’t in the book,” Krem said. When Bull gave him a curious look, he clarified. “ _Tale of the Champion._ ”

Bull chuckled, a deep rumble in his throat. “Come on, Krem de la Krem. You can’t believe half the crap that dwarf writes. That’s what writers do – make shit up.”

Dorian was still mulling over the possibility that they’d just traveled all the way across Tevinter for a  _long shot._

Fenris was wondering what else Varric had left out.  _I have... a sister?_

And Krem was hoping that his favorite character was in town. “Hey, Chief – I don’t suppose the lusty pirate wench is here?”

At this, Bull grinned. “Isabela? Yeah. She’s something. Her and those daggers – she’s one  _sharp_ woman.”

Dorian groaned.

Before Bull could say more, the door opened and, like the opening of a bad joke, a dwarf and three humans walked into the bar.

***

Fenris suddenly found himself the center of attention.

He knew that the beardless dwarf with the crossbow – named Bianca – slung across his back was Varric Tethras.

The fair-skinned woman with red hair, dressed in heavy armor, was Aveline, Kirkwall’s Guard-Captain.

The other woman, with the dark hair and olive skin – much of it showing – sporting two dangerous-looking daggers, was Krem’s lusty pirate wench, Isabela.

The other man, though, also heavily armored – his identity only became clear when introductions were made later: Donnic Hendyr, Aveline’s husband. The man, who, according to the book, had played Diamondback with Fenris nearly every week for three years.

Speaking all at once, their voices overlapping, they fired questions at him, mostly beginning with  _Don’t you remember...? What about the time Hawke...? That night at the Hanged Man...? What about when Anders...?_

But he didn’t remember.

It was all becoming overwhelming, when Dorian spoke up, and spoke loudly. “That’s enough! You’re like a bunch of squabbling hens, pecking over a piece of grain.”

They quieted. Aveline turned to look at Dorian, crossing her arms. Sizing him up. A bit coolly, she said, “And you must be Fenris’ new owner.”

“Now, now, Aveline,” Varric interceded. “Just remember that he’s the one who came to us about fixing Fenris.”

All of the new arrivals looked at Fenris, their expressions despondent over having been forgotten. Or perhaps, Fenris supposed, because they were disappointed that he was no longer _that Fenris_ ?

At this point, Varric made introductions.

Krem’s eyes danced over them, filling in the gaps. “What about Merrill?”

“She’s still in Kirkwall,” Aveline revealed. “Trying to help the elves in the alienage.”

“She wanted to come,” Varric added. “But we decided... well, let’s just say that Daisy and Broody here weren’t exactly best friends – her being a blood mage and all.”

“Oh, shame,” Dorian snarked. “Tevinter could always use  _more_ blood mages.”

Isabela placed her hands on her hips. “Well, that didn’t work out so well. Now what?”

Dorian eyed the dwarf. “Yes, Varric. Please tell me you have a back-up plan. I do so dislike disappointment.”

Varric pulled out a chair at the big table. Everyone else followed suit, and looked at Varric expectantly. “Well...” he began, obviously reluctant to continue. He glanced at Dorian. “As you know, I wrote to Hawke to ask him about how Fenris had started to regain some of his memories before. Hawke eventually wrote me back.”

“And?”

“And he said... well, it happened when Fenris spent the night at Hawke’s mansion... while they were... intimate.”

Silence fell across the table.

Dorian spoke first. “You can’t be serious.”

Varric shrugged. “Hawke was many things to many people, but... he didn’t care enough about what people thought of him to lie.”

There was some general agreement among the Champion’s old crew, and then silence fell again.

Then Bull made a small noise of appreciation. “Damn. Whatever those two had... must have been _intense._ ”

Dorian shot him a scathing glance. “You’re not helping.”

Isabela’s lips perked up in a saucy grin. “Well, if someone needs to sleep with the lanky elf, I’d be more than happy to volunteer. I _like_ lanky.”

Aveline snorted. “Shut up, whore.”

Dorian became aware that Krem’s gaze was fixed on him in a meaningful way. One glance was enough for him to know exactly what Krem was thinking. “Cremisius – no.”

“Come on, Chief. He knows you. Trusts you. If anyone is going to take the elf upstairs, it’s gotta be you.”

Isabela looked at Dorian with interest. “You mean you’ve had him all these months, and didn’t once give in to the temptation of a pretty elf?”

Krem smirked. “Dorian’s stubborn.”

Dorian balked. “Excuse me?”

“Well,” Varric said, then cleared his throat, “there’s a chance it might not work, anyway.”

Aveline huffed. “I can’t believe we’re even discussing this ridiculous proposal. He may have been free to make his own decisions in Kirkwall, but that’s changed. Now he’s just a slave again.”

Donnic placed a gentle hand on her arm. “I think this needs to be done. Even if there’s only a small chance we could get the old Fenris back – it would be worth it.”

Aveline eyed her husband with surprise. “Donnic...?”

Dorian leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “This is a terrible idea. I don’t see how it _could_ work.”

Varric cocked his head. “Why not?”

“You’ve all overlooked one thing. If sex could restore Fenris’ memories, then... well, to be perfectly blunt he would have recovered them with his old master.”

Fenris, who had been listening to the discussion with rapt attention, now shrank down in his chair, staring at the table.

“Not necessarily,” Varric said after a moment. “I think we can assume that Danarius was using Fenris before he escaped, but only with Hawke did the memories start to come back.”

Arguing merely for the sake of it, Dorian said, “Oh? If that’s true, then what did Hawke do that Danarius didn’t?”

Varric became thoughtful. “You remember, Sparkler, when you wrote to me and said that blood magic was a hammer, and that what we needed to fix Fenris was a bigger hammer?”

“Yes. Which, in your opinion, would be what?”

Isabela groaned. “Oh, don’t say _love_ , Varric.”

Varric put up his hands in a defensive gesture. “What? You don’t think Hawke and Broody loved each other?” He paused while everyone considered that, then was miffed when they all appeared skeptical. “Come on, anyone want to deny those sad puppy eyes Broody was making every time Hawke turned his back?”

Aveline sniffed with disdain. “If Hawke loved him, he never would have sold him back to Danarius.”

There was a pause, then Donnic spoke, his voice soft. “If Hawke hadn’t loved him, he wouldn’t have been so cruel.”

Silence fell again.

The Isabela piped up. “Well, if you want to know what Hawke was like in bed... well, I can tell you all about that.”

Dorian opened his mouth. Then closed it again. Then said, “Perhaps you and I could continue this conversation somewhere more private.”

***

The mage from Tevinter and the pirate from Rivain retired to a corner of the tavern.

“I’m already regretting this... but please tell me about Hawke.”

Isabela gave Dorian an earful. Far more detail than he really wanted.

“Yes, well,” Dorian finally said. “That doesn’t give me much insight about what happened between Hawke and _Fenris._ ”

“Hawke never told me about it. Unfortunately.” Her wicked little grin. “But, knowing Hawke... I’m certain he was on top. He’s definitely not the type to be on the bottom.”

 _Ugh._ Now he was picturing _that._ “Not helping.”

“Sorry,” she murmured, clearly _not_ sorry. Then her eyes roamed the tavern, unseeing, as she became lost in thought. A few moments later, she refocused on Dorian. “Oh. Knowing Hawke... I can think of one thing he gave Fenris that Danarius probably didn’t even think about.”

“What?”

Her expression became dreamy a moment before her lips curled into a coy smile. “Pleasure.”

***

When Dorian and Isabela returned to the others, Dorian was aware that everyone was looking at him expectantly as they sat down. He pressed his hand to his lips. Aveline was right: the situation was ridiculous.

“Well, Sparkler?” Varric finally ventured.

Dorian grumbled. “I still can’t believe you’re all asking me to do this.”

“Not all of us,” Aveline muttered.

“Ooh,” Isabela purred. “Let’s take a vote. Who thinks that the finely-muscled, bronze-skinned mage should take the lanky elf with the pretty green eyes upstairs?”

Isabela put her hand high in the air.

Slowly, other hands started to rise.

And then, after a pleading look from her husband, Aveline sighed with disgust and raised her own hand in the air.

Dorian did a quick scan of the table. Except for Fenris and himself, everyone else had raised their hand. Including his henchman. “Cremisius!”

Krem shrugged. “It’s that or blood magic, Chief, and you know it.”

Dorian scowled at Bull. “And who said you got to vote?”

“I’m sittin’ at the table,” Bull rumbled. “Far as I can tell, that means I get a vote.” He glanced at Fenris. “You get a vote, too, elf. You putting your hand up, or not?”

Fenris’ lifted his hand, but then stopped, letting it hover just above the table.

“Don’t worry. We’ll buy you dinner first. So it’s like a real date.”

Fenris’ fingers twitched.

“Bull!” Dorian protested.

Bull grinned at Dorian. “There’s a flower seller in the market. And there’s a real nice shop three blocks away that sells candles. You know, the scented kind. So you can set the mood.”

“ _Vishante kaffas!”_ Dorian growled. “Wait – doesn’t anyone care about how I feel?”

Bull shrugged. “Not really. They want something. You’re just the bigger hammer.” Bull sniggered. “I guess that makes you a tool.”

Dorian’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You did  _not_ just call me a tool.”

Then Isabela laughed softly. “Well. Would you look at that.”

All gazes followed Isabela’s to Fenris, sitting at one end of the table.

He’d raised his hand.

A moment passed, then he lowered his hand, his eyes everywhere but on their faces.

All other eyes swung back to Dorian.

Dorian stifled a groan. “Enough,” he growled. “Fine. Fenris and I will discuss this later. After dinner.  _In private.”_

***

Over dinner, at least, the conversation revolved around other topics. There was some reminiscing about Kirkwall, followed by news of the Inquisition’s activities since Dorian had departed, and much jibbing from Krem about Bull and his red-haired waitress.

All during dinner, Krem kept refilling Fenris’ glass with wine. But not so much to get the elf drunk.

As for Dorian, shortly after dinner, Bull practically dragged him to the bar and forced him to drink some awful swill that Bull described as being likely to “steel his staff.” Or maybe just set his hair on fire.

Aveline and Donnic were the first ones to retire for the night. Dorian was vaguely grateful for that, as it meant that not everyone was going to watch him and Fenris go upstairs together. Still, by now, there was no delaying the inevitable.

Bidding them good night, he rose from the table, then cast a quick glance at the elf. “Come along, Fenris.”

“Yes, Master.”

Dorian, swinging the key that Varric had quietly slipped to him during the meal, managed to ignore the stares that followed them through the tavern and up the stairs.

“Ooh, _yes, master_ ,” Isabela cooed once they were out of earshot. “Do you think he’ll say that during?”

Varric shook his head. “You’re imagining Fenris oiled-up and glistening again, aren’t you, Rivaini?” he asked. “Tell you what, if you decide to press your ear to that door, make sure you take notes for me. The more detail, the better. Readers like details.”

Bull leaned closer to the pirate. “If you like men with muscles, I can go raid the kitchens for some oil. I’ll flex for you. Give you a real nice show.”

Isabela eyed him. “Sorry, but I’ve had my fill of Qunari.” She grinned wickedly at her own unintended innuendo, then her gaze slithered over to Krem. “What I do like is men with red hair. I’ve never had one, though, so I do wonder... is it red everywhere?”

Krem’s eyes lit up. Then he returned the grin. “Play your cards right, and you might have the opportunity to find out later.”

“Ooh,” Isabela purred. “I  _like_ him.”

“Careful,” Bull said with a chuckle. “I think  _he_ might surprise you.”

***

Once upstairs, Dorian found the room and locked the door behind them.

It was an unprepossessing room, small but clean. The innkeeper had thoughtfully left a lantern burning, so Dorian didn’t have to search for one in the dark.

Fenris crept farther in, eyes in motion, his hands nervously plucking at the laces on his shirt.

_He looks as uncomfortable as I feel._

“Fenris?”

“Yes, Master?”

“Why did you raise your hand downstairs?”

Fenris thought about that. Seeing all their faces – his friends’ faces – he’d wished he could remember them. He’d wished he could remember what it had been like to be _free._ “I want my memories back.”

“Oh? Is that all?”

By Dorian’s expression, Fenris had disappointed him. “Master – did I say something wrong?”

“No, no,” Dorian said quickly. Then he choked out a laugh. “I just suppose I’d feel better about doing this if I thought you wanted it. Silly me.”

_This._ He meant sex. “Master?”

“Yes, Fenris?”

Fenris’ eyes swept the room, looking everywhere, and anywhere, but at him. “I don’t know. If I... want it. I never...” He swallowed. “I didn’t like what those men did to me.”

“Fenris...” Dorian murmured, appalled. He’d heard the stories, of course, but that didn’t mean he wanted to hear them again from the slave’s lips.

Green eyes lifted, then skittered away again. “But I... when you touch me, it feels... different.”

_Then that morning, when I touched him, in Minrathous... and then, when he kissed me..._

Dorian debated. Drew a deep breath. Then he stepped forward, lifting a hand to Fenris’ face.

The elf’s eyes met his.

“Listen to me, Fenris,” he said, quiet but firm. “I don’t want to hurt you. We don’t have to do anything if you don’t like it. You tell me to stop, and we will stop. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Master.”

Dorian’s fingers traced along his jaw. “On the other hand, if I’m doing something... pleasurable to you that you wish for me to continue, you will ask for more. Understand?”

His master wanted to give _him_ pleasure? That seemed even stranger than Dorian giving him a choice about training to fight. “I... understand, Master.”

“Good.” Dorian smiled gently at him. “Now – kiss me like you did on my name-day.”

Fenris tilted up his head this time, shifting to close the gap between them, and covered Dorian’s mouth with a series of tentative, fluttery kisses.

When it came to sex, Dorian was not a romantic man. But he would be careful with Fenris – careful not to rush things, and careful not to be rough, despite the desire to devour him. Instead, he would slowly drench Fenris in passion.

They kissed softly for a few more moments. Then Fenris found himself entwined in the enchanter’s arms as Dorian deepened the kiss.

Coy tease of tongue. Fingers trailing down spine. Breath caught in throat. Then heart trying to leap out of his ribcage as Dorian’s pressed his hand at the small of Fenris’ back, and pulled him so that Fenris could feel the entirety of Dorian’s body against his own.

His breath hiccuped in his throat. It hiccuped again when Dorian eventually drew him down to the bed and proceeded to expertly peel him out of his clothes.

Naked, Fenris lay back, looking up at his master, as Dorian’s fingers began to trace over his markings, following curves of muscle, running along the ridges of his bones.

 _This – this feeling._ “More.”

Fingers danced, exploring every inch of him. Making him gasp.

Dorian leaned back, admiring the sight of Fenris below him. Wanting him. Eyes widened as Dorian undressed, leaving only his small clothes, which did nothing to hide his own desire.

“The small clothes stay on,” Dorian promised. “Until you ask me to take them off.”

Fenris nodded. Then gasped again as Dorian drew him close, skin on skin.

Dorian’s mouth moved over his skin, lapping and kissing.

His mouth felt even better than his hands. “More.”

Nipple in teeth. Swirl of tongue in navel. Hot breath between his thighs.

Fenris thought,  _What is he – uh._

And then stopped thinking.

No one had ever done this to him before. Wet heat. Tension deep in the pit of his belly, hardening, electrifying. Drowning in a sea of unfamiliar sensations, until he was suddenly swept away.

The stars over Tevinter exploded and fell from the sky.

In his mind, a crack in the seal.

There were flashes of faces. Faces he didn’t recognize. There were towers. Gallows. Jungles. Deserts. Ancient ruins. Whores beckoning from the docks. Dirty men with crossbows in the dark. The sawdust floors of alehouses. Shadowed alleys. Talking trees. Demons and darkspawn. An army of werewolves attacking. Dragon blood, hot, splashing across his face. Words.

_Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun._

_Your master must have been a terrible man, to make you hate mages so._

_Did you ever think about killing yourself?_

Then Dorian was on him, kissing him, rolling Fenris over him.

He could taste himself on Dorian’s tongue. Through the small clothes, he could feel Dorian’s need. Hot whisper, moist in his ear. “Your hands. On me. _Please._ ”

His bronze skin – so smooth, so hot beneath his touch. Play of hands. Dart of tongue. Dorian’s skin tasted of sand and fire. Hands holding, stroking, necromancer bringing the dead back to life.

_I am his._

Soft, breathy laugh of wonder. “Maker, you’re already hard again.”

His heart was a drum, his blood full of flames, and the lyrium in their veins sang to the mana in the mage.

Dorian’s patient fingers, oiled, sliding, seeking. Finding.

Jolts of unbridled pleasure coursing through him again.

The seal cracked wider, releasing a new torrent of images.

More faces he couldn’t remember. Playing in a courtyard as a child. The comfort of a mother’s arms. Caverns filled with fungal rot. The leash taut about his neck. Tearing the heart out of a woman’s chest. The sea crashing against a rocky coast. The distant tolling of a bell. Gold coins raining from a fist. Blood magic and abominations. Danarius, about to strike. More words.

_Did your master oil you up? Did you glisten for him?_

_There's a war coming. Does it feel different, fighting by choice?_

_The chains are broken, but are you truly free?_

Dorian growled his name, drawing him back to the present. Hands and lips and storm gray eyes ravishing, devouring. 

_Everything for him. Everything._ “Smalls,” he gasped. “Take them... off.”

Soft sigh of silken underthings as they fluttered to the floor, and then Dorian reached out, rolling Fenris beneath him.

Months of waiting. Of longing.  _Careful, careful._ He could sense the lyrium in Fenris’ skin, humming, stretching tendrils out like a lover longing for the Fade. The magic inside himself, wanting to surge and cut like a sharp-edged blade.

_Oh Maker,_ he could set the entire world on fire.

Fenris, beneath him, hips instinctively straining against his hand.

Another soft, breathy laugh. “Again? Really...?”

Intoxicating gazes, hands, lips, breath. Need demanding, throbbing like a heartbeat. No longer possible to resist, heat surrounding him as they became one. Splash of white hair across the pillows as Fenris arched his back, head tossed back.

 _This. Maker, this._ “More.”

Dorian complied.

Taken. Possessed. Filled. Fulfilled. So...  _different._ So...  _wonderful._ So...  _good._ Dorian inside him, completing him, overcoming him until he was once again swept up and washed away again.

In all senses, a release. Lyrium markings glowed to life, mingling muted pain and heady pleasure, flushing him with Fade energy.

Dorian, feeling the pulse of energy around him, instinctively reached, bending the veil, drawing the power of the Fade, but without a spell on his lips, let the energy flow out of him.

The lyrium in his skin, alight, drank in all of the power that rushed out of the mage.

The seal shattered.

All at once, Fenris’ memories flooded back in. Each once fresh and sharp, they battered against his brain, unrelenting. Thirty-two years of his life poured in, each moment battling, demanding to be acknowledged.

In the maelstrom, one memory burned hotter than the others, refusing to be denied.

This time he recognized the faces belonging to the words. For a moment he was back in Kirkwall, in the Hanged Man, with Danarius. Varania. And Hawke, mouth moving, betraying him. Killing him with his words.

_If you want him, he’s yours._

And his plea, unanswered, ignored.

_Don’t do this, Hawke. I need you._

And then Fenris was screaming.

 


	13. Rude Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that he's regained his memories, Fenris has to make a choice. As does Krem.

Everyone in the tavern heard the screams.

Five of the guests recognized that voice. Two of them were torn out of sleep. Two out of each others’ arms. And one, whose quill, when he startled, left a jagged black slash across the page.

And, because they recognized the owner of that voice, all five of them – some tossing on the bare minimum of clothing – ran towards the sound.

The Iron Bull, though he hadn’t recognized that voice, also jogged up because... well, _screaming._

Behind the door, although the intensity had decreased, they could still hear Fenris’ cries of distress.

Krem had reached the door first. Tried the latch. Finding it locked, he banged on the door. “Dorian! Fenris!”

From within came Dorian’s muffled reply. Unintelligible, it could have been _Not now, Krem!_ or _Help me out, Krem!_

Varric stepped forward, withdrawing a set of lock picks from his pocket. “Allow me.”

“No, I’ll do it,” Isabela insisted, metal already glinting between her fingers, which she’d pulled out from... somewhere. Krem wasn’t sure where, exactly, given how little she was wearing. _Her hair, perhaps?_ “I’m better at picking locks than you.”

“I beg to differ,” Varric said stiffly.

“You can beg all you want. I’m used to men begging.”

Aveline growled. “Will you two stop arguing and just open the bloody door?”

Suddenly the noises inside stopped.

Krem glanced at Bull. The huge Qunari stepped forward. With one well-placed punch, he bashed the door open.

Everyone pushed into the room.

Dorian knelt on the bed. He looked absolutely drained. In his arms lay the limp body of Fenris. In the air, the crackle of magic dissipating.

The sheets didn’t cover anything. “Maker,” Aveline muttered, the only one with the decency to avert her eyes.

Dorian scanned their faces, each pinched with concern, and – _of all things!_ – Isabela was dressed only in Krem’s unlaced tunic, and Krem, below his half-buttoned jerkin, was unbound. So Dorian could almost forgive the intrusion.

“Dorian?” Krem ventured, at the same as Donnic asked, “What happened?” Followed immediately by Varric’s, “Is he okay?”

Dorian looked down at Fenris. Eyes closed, pale, but breathing normally again. Dorian didn’t know quite how to explain what had happened. Nor was he certain he _wanted_ to explain it, given what they were doing when it happened. All he knew was that when Fenris had peaked – _again!_ – by flaring his markings, he’d opened a channel into the Fade, which filled him with Fade energy. And, as a mage, Dorian, sensitive to it, had lost control during his own peak, opening his own channel into the Fade. Though he hadn’t had a spell at the ready, all his potential magic, ready to flow, had been drawn by the lyrium under Fenris’ skin.

Dorian had become Fenris’ conduit. All the Fade energy that Dorian could draw passed through him _into_ Fenris – and between the two of them, it had been enough raw power to break the seal.

In other words, he’d sucked Dorian up like a sponge. Dorian had barely had enough mana left to cast the spell to quiet him.

“Sleep spell,” Dorian said wearily, reaching to cover Fenris with the sheet. Even that movement was an effort. “Though I don’t know how long it will last. Had to... push past his magic resistance.”

“Dorian,” Bull said, his tone subdued. “I think they meant _before_ that. You know – the part where the elf was screaming bloody murder.”

“Ah,” Dorian said. “I can’t be one-hundred percent certain, but my best guess would be that he remembered.”

“Remembered?” Varric asked. “Remembered what?”

“Everything,” he said.

Silence fell.

“Honestly?” Varric asked, then thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “Shit, I didn’t think this would actually work.”

Krem’s jaw twitched. Dorian looked like he’d been run through a wringer – not unlike he’d looked when they’d left Vol Dorma. “Dorian – you okay?”

“Me? Oh, other than the fact that I feel like I’m either going to throw up or pass out, I’m perfectly fine.”

Krem moved forward to take Fenris from Dorian’s arms, tossing a glance at the others. “Maybe you all could wait outside.”

Everyone filed out. Bull, the last one out, thoughtfully closed the door.

Dorian slumped back as Krem relieved him of his burden.

“Do you need a healer?” Krem asked as he lay the unconscious elf down in the bed, arranging the pillows and drawing up the sheets.

“No, I...” Dorian began, but it was still too much effort to explain. “Rest, I think. Or a name-day cake made of lyrium. That could work.”

Krem considered him. _So pale._ “You should stay with me and Bull, then. So we can keep an eye on you.” He scouted around the floor for Dorian’s clothes, holding them out. “Here – get dressed.”

Normally Dorian would have given Krem a hard time for bossing him around, but now he was too exhausted. “What about Fenris?” he asked, as he barely managed to work the laces on his pants he’d worn for riding.

Krem had gathered Fenris’ clothing, as well, and was folding them neatly. “The others can watch him.”

Once Dorian was dressed, Krem let the others back in, then explained the situation.

The crew exchanged glances. They were all thinking the same thing: the Fenris who woke up would not be the same Fenris they’d met earlier in the tavern. And, after the screaming they’d heard, would he even be sane?

Varric rubbed at his chin again. “My guess is that this experience has been a bit overwhelming for the elf. I’d suggest that we try not to overwhelm him again. So I think that maybe Donnic and I should watch him until he wakes up.”

“That’s fine with me,” Aveline said, though she did look a bit miffed to be left out.

Isabela crossed her arms. “Don’t you think it would be better if he had a woman’s touch?”

Aveline grabbed her by the sleeve of Krem’s tunic. “Not _your_ kind of touch, you tart. Now, let’s go.”

Isabela could be heard protesting as Aveline dragged her out of the room and down the hall.

Dorian cast one more glance at Fenris. He resisted the urge to trail his fingers along the elf’s face and press a kiss to his sleeping mouth.

Later, he would regret that.

Now, though, he made to follow Krem out of the room. Except that his legs, shaky, decided to give out on him.

Bull, surprisingly swift for such a large man, had darted forward to catch him as he fell. Then, before he knew what was happening, the Qunari was lifting him up, carrying him in his arms as if he weighed no more than a child.

Dorian protested. “What do you think you’re doing!?”

Bull chuckled. “Putting you to bed. So be a good little mage and let me do it.”

Too weak to do anything else, Dorian growled a curse at him and let himself be carried away.

***

Late morning light was seeping through the windows when Fenris finally woke.

His head was muddled, a lingering effect of the sleep spell. He tried to blink the dust from his eyes. Slowly the room swam into focus. To his right, asleep in a chair, was an auburn-haired dwarf. To his left, also asleep, sitting on the floor with his back to the wall was a brown-haired human.

As Fenris sat up, the man on the floor stirred.

Fenris recognized him. He _knew_ him. This man was his _friend._ “Donnic...?” And the dwarf. “Varric?”

Varric’s eyes snapped open.

“Fenris,” Donnic began cautiously. “How do you feel?”

His head... was crowded. Voices, faces, thoughts. Everything pulsed and ached. “Like I’ve been hit with a very big hammer.”

Varric eyed him curiously. “If I didn’t know you better, Broody, I’d think you were making a joke.”

Fenris’ hands clutched at the sheets. He could feel the Fade energy in his lyrium veins. Except it felt different this time. The energy had passed through the mage, and Fenris could feel Dorian’s mana – his essence – under every inch of his skin.

It was unnerving. It made him want to punch holes into the walls until he’d burned the feeling out of him.

“Varric, don’t. Perhaps you don’t realize how upsetting this is –” _No. Wait._ He’d said the exact same words before. After he’d let another mage – _Hawke!_ – fuck him. History repeating itself.

“Do you really remember... everything?”

Fingers twisted in sheets. “Hawke. At the Hanged Man, he –” Fenris grimaced. “You know what he did. And then, Danarius... he cast that spell three times to wipe my memories. Each time he used more and more blood.” He grimaced again. “But my sister – she was his apprentice – she kept reminding me of my past.”

“Fenris,” Varric said quietly. “That was over four years ago.”

Fenris stared down at his hands. “It feels like yesterday.”

Varric and Donnic exchanged worried glances.

Without lifting his head, Fenris spoke in a small voice, almost a whisper. “I remember my mother,” he said. “I never remembered her before. She... _loved_ me.” In his lap, his hands curled into fists. No one had ever loved him before, no one, not even Hawke. Only now, he remembered what it felt like, and mourned its loss. His eyes traveled up his arms. “I remember competing for these markings. How badly I wanted to free her.” His voice became a growl. “And my _sister._ Who _also_ betrayed me. We saw her – Krem and I – in Minrathous – but she ran away.”

“Fenris...” Donnic began, but was at a loss for what to say next.

“I remember every filthy thing that Danarius made me do...” He trailed off, all haggard breath. “Every punishment. Every... _hurt._ The lyrium... branded... into my skin... days of sheer torture...”

“Breathe, Fenris,” Varric said soothingly. “Breathe.”

Donnic shot a look to the dwarf. “Should we get Dorian?”

“ _No._ ” This from Fenris, a slash of a word. He could still feel Dorian’s essence inside him. He could still feel the mage’s touch, his lips, the thrust of his hips. All the feelings that had swirled inside him. Oh Maker, he’d been such a fool again. “You will not fetch my mast-” He caught himself. “Pavus.”

“But Fenris...” someone said.

In his mind, all the memories were flashing again. “No,” he said, voice cracking. “I can’t do this. It is... too much. I _can’t._ ”

Donnic looked at Varric. He’d never seen the dwarf so serious. “Varric – what should we do?”

Varric considered the elf, curled into himself, oozing pain. “We’re his friends,” he said softly. “We’ll do whatever he needs us to do.”

***

Bull had put him to bed the night before. In Krem’s bed. Krem had seemed perfectly content to sleep on the floor, as Bull watched Dorian doze off. It had been such a long journey, and such a long night. Dorian, exhausted, had fallen asleep with the taste of sunshine lingering on his lips.

He felt better in the morning. So he followed Bull and Krem down to the main floor of the tavern to join the women for a late breakfast.

“Any word?” Dorian asked as he sat and flagged down the tavern girl.

“I did see Donnic briefly,” Aveline revealed. “All he said was that Fenris was awake and that his memories are intact. Which has been a bit unsettling, so the men have been trying to calm him down.”

Krem and Dorian exchanged a glance. Dorian smiled. “I’m sure he’ll be fine, Cremisius,” he said, then the tavern girl arrived to take their order.

Waiting was strange. Conversation was light, mostly revolving around Isabela’s recent hijinks on the seas. Every now and then she would give Krem a little knowing smile.

Dorian had never asked Krem about his preferences. He hadn’t needed to – given Krem’s indifference the first time he’d seen Dorian naked, it was obvious that men didn’t interest him. Though he felt bad now, as he was rather certain that his nocturnal activities with Fenris had interrupted Krem’s.

They were lingering over coffee when Dorian’s attention was caught by one of Bull’s remarks to Krem.

“...they all said they missed you. Well, not Grim, of course, though he did grunt with more feeling than usual. Anyway, the Chargers will be happy to have their lieutenant back at Skyhold.”

Krem smiled fondly at the Qunari. “Sure thing, Chief.”

 _Sure thing, Chief._ Dorian felt those words like a stab wound to the chest. Yes, he’d always known that Krem and Bull had a close relationship. And, yes, he knew that the Qunari had even saved Krem’s life. Yet he still felt betrayed at how easily Krem could run off and leave him.

“Bull,” Dorian protested, a bit too loudly. “Are you really just going to take Krem and leave me to traipse all the way across Tevinter without a bodyguard?”

“Actually, I already got that covered,” Bull said. “I asked around. If you need a bodyguard, I’ve got the names of some decent mercs here in Nessum who are more than skilled enough to protect a man wearing a skirt.”

Dorian huffed. “They’re _robes._ ”

Heads turned as Varric came down the stairs. Without sitting, his gaze swept over all of them, lingering on Dorian. “Well, we’ve come to a decision. When we go back to Skyhold, we’ll be taking Fenris with us.”

That gave Dorian pause. It took him a moment to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “What?”

Varric made a loose gesture. “That’s what he wants.”

Dorian paused again. He wasn’t sure why he was so surprised that Varric would take Fenris away, now that he’d regained his memories – wasn’t that why he’d initially asked his father to give him the slave?

“I... well, if that’s what he wants...” Dorian managed to say. “When would you leave?”

“The sooner we get him out of Tevinter, the better, so as soon as everyone’s ready we’ll hit the road.” Varric turned to the women. “Ladies, you should come, too, if you can.”

Isabela stretched as she stood. “Skyhold? Sounds like fun. I’m in.”

To Aveline, Varric added, “I know you have your duties back in Kirkwall, but Donnic said you could probably spare a little more time for this.”

As Aveline rose, she gave a little shrug. “Just remember that you still owe me, dwarf, for all those _Hard in Hightown_ shenanigans.”

“Woah! You don’t forget anything, do you, Red?”

“No, I don’t,” Aveline tossed over her shoulder and she headed upstairs. “And don’t call me Red.”

As everyone else rose from the table, Dorian turned to Varric. “Well. I suppose I should say my farewells to Fenris, then.”

A strange look flashed across the dwarf’s face. Then he reached for Dorian’s sleeve, steering him back, away from the others. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but... Fenris doesn’t want to see you.”

Dorian froze in shock. Then he sputtered. “What? Why?”

Varric sighed. “I don’t think even he knows. He just said... well, that this has all been too much for him.” At Dorian’s expression of dismay, Varric added, “He just needs... time.”

Dorian snorted in disbelief. His words snapped. “And you think that you can stop me from seeing my slave?”

That knocked Varric into speechlessness. Dorian was a good man, but every now and then, his upbringing as a privileged, pampered _altus_ from a noble family, accustomed to getting whatever he wanted, came out. It was really not Dorian’s best quality.

“ _That_ might be part of the problem, Sparkler,” Varric finally said. “I think you’ve just hit the nail on the head.” He raised an eyebrow. “In more ways than one.”

Dorian fumed, silent, as he considered that. Then, “Still on the whole hammer analogy, are we?”

“More of a metaphor, really,” Varric said lightly. “But... if you want to turn me into an icicle and run up the stairs, then be my guest. That’s assuming that you _want_ to upset him more.”

Dorian fumed again. Then he sighed. “No, I don’t want to upset him. Fine. We’ll do this your way.”

“I’m glad we agree,” Varric said. “In fact, it’s probably for the best if you just wait in my room until we’re gone.”

***

Dorian lingered by the window while the dwarf packed. Varric was traveling light, so it didn’t take him long. By the time he’d finished rolling up his sheets of parchment and stowing them away in his pack, Krem and Bull, dressed for riding, appeared in the doorway.

“Dwarf,” Bull rumbled. “Everyone’s ready to head out.”

Varric slung his pack, and then Bianca, over his shoulder. Stopped to look up at Dorian with a genuine smile. “It was good to see you, Sparkler. The Inquisition isn’t the same without you.”

Dorian returned the smile. “Yes, I’m certain that it’s far less dashing.”

“That’s for sure.” Varric became serious. “As for what you did for Fenris... I don’t think I can quite thank you enough.”

Dorian just smiled again. “Favors from the dwarven merchants’ guild could come in handy, so it’s enough that you owe me.”

Varric nodded, then slipped out.

Dorian’s gaze fell on Krem. For a long moment they just stared at each other.

Bull’s gaze, quizzical, switched between the two of them.

Krem didn’t say anything. Dorian didn’t know what to say, either. Other than, _Cremisius, please don’t go._ Except that Dorian Pavus didn’t beg. Begging was beneath him.

Dorian finally thought of something. Reaching for his purse, he pulled out some coin, which he then handed over. Krem’s back pay. “Oh, I almost forgot. What I owe you.”

Krem’s expression was strange. Pained. But he took the money, secreting it away in a pocket. “I... umm... thanks, Chief.”

Bull regarded them curiously for another moment. Then, when the mage’s gaze met his, he smiled. “Take care of yourself, ‘Vint. And don’t be a stranger.”

Then they were gone.

Dorian stood for a moment, then he sank down to sit at the edge of the bed, just staring at the empty doorway.

And realized, for the first time in months, that he was completely and utterly alone.

***

That evening, Dorian sat in the Black Stone tavern in Nessum, at a small table in the back, with a bottle of their best wine open in front of him.

He’d spent much of the afternoon talking to some of the mercenaries from the list of names that Bull had left for him. It would be safer to travel with a swordsman, of course, but Dorian had traveled in Tevinter on his own before – when he’d escaped from his parents’ house – so he didn’t necessarily _need_ a bodyguard. Still, perhaps he would hire one of them in the morning before he headed back to Qarinus.

Now, though, he hadn’t thought to bring a book to read, which meant that he was sipping his wine, undistracted from his thoughts, with only his melancholy for company.

He missed Varric already. Back at Skyhold, they’d played cards together often. He was pretty sure he still owed the dwarf twenty royals for some wager or another, but, given the commotion, Varric had forgotten to mention it.

Strangely, he even missed Bull, and the knowing leer he would get whenever he undressed Dorian with his eyes. Which had been often.

Most of all, he missed Krem. At Skyhold, he’d never imagined that the two of them would become friends, but he deeply missed the ex-soldier’s company, his dry, down-to-earth wit, and the way Krem’s shrewd eyes would laugh at him whenever Dorian said something that amused him.

He missed Fenris, too. He’d become accustomed to the elf’s mostly quiet presence, and he’d enjoyed the cute ways in which Fenris would react whenever he or Krem had teased him.

Dorian was trying not to think about last night, and how good it had felt, after three months of temptation, to finally tumble that elf. No – more than that, once Fenris had begun touching and kissing him everywhere, it had been extraordinarily wonderful. Yet, even though Fenris had clearly enjoyed it as much as he had, and the act had produced the desired results, Dorian still felt guilty about it.

As he sat there alone, melancholic, a familiar hand set an empty glass down on the table before the familiar body sat down across from him in the empty chair.

Dorian was unable to conceal his surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Krem smirked at him. “Thought you might need someone to help drink that bottle,” he said. “I’ve seen you drunk, Chief. It ain’t pretty.”

Dorian lifted the bottle to fill Krem’s glass. “And Bull?”

Krem shrugged. Once they’d stopped along the road, Bull had confronted Krem, who’d spent the ride thus far quietly brooding. And then had gently forced Krem to admit which man his heart wanted him to follow.

Of course, there was no way in the Void he was ever going to say anything even remotely that sentimental to Dorian Pavus. Real swordsmen didn’t get _mushy._

Krem smiled slyly. “Oh, he said I’ve probably gotten too soft for the Chargers in Tevinter, lying around having slaves peeling me grapes.”

Dorian laughed. “Well, we do seem to be out of slaves at the moment. But I suppose I could perform a little blood magic to peel our grapes. I mean, grape skins – only plebians eat those.”

Krem’s eyes laughed at him. “Whatever you say, Chief.”

Krem raised his glass in a toast. Dorian did the same.

“To Tevinter,” Krem said.

“To leading the Magisterium into a glorious future from the inside,” Dorian added.

Their glasses clinked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, THANK YOU for following along! I hope you enjoyed the Krem/Dorian bromance. Though I'm pretty sure some of you wanted to punch me when Fenris ran off and left them. (I'm sorry. As Dorian would say, Maker, I am a terrible man.)
> 
> But if you're actually not sick of this and want more, don't worry. I'm already working on the sequel and Fenris will come back in chapter 2! 
> 
> Stay strong, and may Andraste smile kindly upon you. :)


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